HEIMBURG'S 
WORKS 


-,s 


si 


•-: 


A    POOR    GIRL 


W.  HEIMBURG 


f^ 


—  \ 

J 


TRANSLATED    BY    ELISE    L.   LATHROP 


WITH    PHOTOGRAVURE   ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW    YORK 

WORTHINGTON    COMPANY 

747    BROADWAY 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BV 
WORTHINGTON  COMPANY 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


A  POOR  GIRL. 


i. 


|IKE  a  caressing  touch,  the  mild  damp  spring 
air,  streaming  into  the  room  through  the  wide- 
opened  windows,  played  over  the  strangely  pale  and 
quiet  face  of  a  very  young  woman,  resting  among  the 
pillows  of  the  bed.  The  breeze  raised  the  full  blonde 
curls  on  the  pale  brow,  and  stirred  the  curtains  of  a 
cradle  draped  in  blue,  which,  as  if  it  were  every- 
where in  the  way,  had  been  pushed  into  the  furthest 
corner  of  the  room. 

"Stand  up,  Hegebach,"  said  a  woman's  deep  voice. 
"  God  gives  and  God  takes  away,  and  we  must  bear  it 
patiently." 

She  was  a  tall  stout  woman,  in  the  forties,  who  with 


213G264 


2  A  Poor  Girl. 

these  words  approached  the  man  who  lay  motionless 
beside  the  bed,  and  had  thrown  his  arms  over  the  dead 
woman  as  if  in  wild  grief.  He  did  not  move  now,  and 
the  speaker  hastily  wiped  a  couple  of  tears  from  her 
bright  intelligent  eyes. 

"  Hegebach,  you  must  not,  you  cannot  lie  here  the 
whole  day  without  food  and  drink.  Come,"  she  con- 
tinued, her  reproving  tone  ending  in  a  half-suppressed 
sob,  "  come,  Hegebach,  you  still  have  duties — think  of 
the  child  !  " 

He  groaned  and  rose.  He  was  a  man  no  longer 
young,  and  grief  made  his  bearded  face  with  the  un- 
mistakably military  cut  of  hair,  appear  much  older  ;  his 
eyes  stared  almost  uncannily  at  the  peaceful  sweet 
face  which  slumbered  there  so  calmly.  Then  turning 
away  abruptly,  he  left  the  room,  with  clanking  spurs,  no 
longer  a  mourner,  but  as  one  enraged,  deeply  insulted. 
The  woman  left  behind  straightened  the  white  cover- 
let over  the  corpse,  and  smoothed  the  childish  face  ca- 
ressingly, then  brought  the  cradle  from  the  corner  and 
carried  it  out. 

In  the  opposite  room  something  cried  ;  she  hastily 
opened  the  door  and  entered  a  small  one-windowed 
room,  evidently  that  of  the  dead  woman.  It  was  inde- 
scribably dainty,  although  almost  too  simple  for  a  lady 
of  rank,  with  its  white  hangings  and  the  work-table  by 
the  window,  through  which  one  could  look  out  into  the 
garden  where  the  young  tender  green  twigs  swung  in  the 
mild  spring  zephyrs.  There  was  no  one  in  the  room, 


A  Poor  Girl.  3 

only  on  the  sofa  a  little  white  bundle,  from  which  a 
pair  of  tiny  red  fists  protruded,  and  which  emitted  a 
helpless  cry. 

The  tall  stately  woman  suddenly  fell  upon  her  knees 
before  the  sofa,  and  weeping  hid  her  face  in  the  small 
cushions.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  whispered,  "  the  world  does 
not  smile  upon  you,  you  poor  thing  !  No  mother,  no 
mother  !  And  your  father  acts  as  though  God  had 
deeply  insulted  him  in  sending  him  a  poor  little  girl. 
Foolish  little  wight,  why  were  you  not  a  boy  ?  And 
every  one  gone,  of  course  !  They  leave  you  here  to 
cry,  and  you  are  hungry,  too." 

She  paused  and  gazed  for  a  moment,  as  though  pon- 
dering, at  the  tiny  puckered  red  face.  "  Wait,  wait," 
said  she,  quickly  raising  the  child.  "  I  will  take  you 
with  me  to  the  castle  ;  what  can  he  do  with  such  an 
atom  ? " 

Two  days  later  the  young  Mrs.  von  Hegebach  was 
buried.  Her  short  life  was  the  talk  of  the  day  all  over 
the  little  city,  and  those  who  had  not  known  her,  soon 
learned  that  she  had  been  a  penniless  girl  and  had  mar- 
ried the  man  so  much  her  senior,  and  also  without  for- 
tune, for  the  sake  of  a  home.  No  one  had  believed  it 
possible  that  he  would  ever  marry;  he  had  been  already 
an  old  bachelor,  and  surly  and  irritable  besides.  Now 
it  was  just  a  year  since  this  sunbeam  had  entered  his 
house — what  a  short  happiness  ! 

"  If  it  really  was  one,"  said  many.  Captain  von 
Selchow  assured  several  younger  comrades,  on  the  way 


4  A  Poor  Girl. 

to  the  funeral,  that  he  knew  from  authentic  sources 
that  Hegebach's  marriage  had  been  a  coup  de  de'sespoir. 
He,  Hegebach,  some  fifteen  months  before,  had  received 
from  his  wealthy  old  uncle,  the  Bennewitzer,  a  letter 
which  informed  him  briefly  and  explicitly  that  the 
uncle  had  no  idea  of  leaving  his  fortune  to  a  pair  of 
old  bachelors,  such  as,  unfortunately,  both  his  nephews 
were  ;  he  wished  to  know  for  whom  he  had  saved  and 
cared.  Whichever  of  the  two  men  first  announced  to 
him  the  birth  of  a  son  and  heir  should  be  the  chosen 
one.  Daughters  were  not  to  be  considered.  Hege- 
bach's cousin,  of  the  Fifteenth  Dragoons,  had  not  an- 
swered this  letter ;  there  was  a  rumor  of  an  affair  from 
which  he  could  not  at  once  disentangle  himself.  But 
our  Captain  a  week  later  answered  very  laconically 
with  the  notice  of  his  betrothal,  voilci,  tout.  The  rest 
the  gentlemen  knew  ;  to-day  they  attended  the  sad  con- 
clusion of  the  story.  "  She  was  a  charming  woman, 
the  little  Hegebach — a  great  pity,"  he  concluded, 
pathetically. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  of  the  castle  had  cared  for  the 
young  mother,  and  made  the  arrangements  for  the 
funeral;  there  was  a  slight  relationship  between  them. 
The  parents  of  the  deceased  were  no  longer  living,  but 
the  guardian  had  come  to  the  burial  early  this  morning. 
Hegebach's  comrades  had  appeared,  and  the  regimental 
band  had  preceded  the  flower-laden  coffin  through  the 
winding  lanes,  and  played  hymns.  The  widower  fol- 
lowed the  hearse  in  his  full  uniform;  his  rigid  face  ex- 


A  Poor  Girl.  5 

pressed  no  grief,  but  rather  misanthropy;  it  even  seemed 
as  if  the  lips  under  the  full  beard,  already  half  gray, 
curled  in  a  scornful  smile. 

Then  that  was  over.  The  people  had  gone.  One 
more  fresh  mound  rose  in  the  churchyard,  and  the 
street  before  the  house  of  mourning  was  again  deserted  ; 
a  single  carriage  still  waited  before  the  door,  a  carriage 
drawn  by  a  magnificent  pair  of  horses,  evidently  belong- 
ing to  wealthy  people. 

In  the  dead  wife's  room  the  little  basket  cradle  with 
the  sleeping  child  was  rocked  softly ;  an  old  servant, 
her  hands  in  her  lap,  sat  beside  it,  with  eyes  red  from 
weeping.  She  had  draped  the  simple  furniture  in 
sheets ;  the  dainty  little  table,  the  flowers  at  the  window, 
had  vanished,  as  had  curtains  and  rugs  ;  it  looked  de- 
serted and  uninhabited,  as  though  the  owner  had  gone 
on  a  long  journey. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  entered  the  Captain's  gloomy 
unhomelike  sitting-room.  She  wore  hat  and  cloak. 
"  Good-by,  Hegebach  !  "  said  she.  "  I  must  go  home 
now  ;  they  have  just  sent  for  me.  Moritz  has  come 
and  things  have  gone  at  sixes  and  sevens  at  home  this 
week.  I  need  not  assure  you  that  the  little  child  will 
be  well  cared  for." 

He  had  stood  at  the  window  and  stared  out  into  the 
narrow  street ;  now  he  turned  and  gazed  in  astonishment 
at  the  resolute,  still  beautiful  woman. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  it  needs  care  and  attention, 
Hegebach.  A  baby  could  not  thrive  here  in  your 


6  A  Poor  Girl. 

smoky  rooms.  I  do  it  for  its  mother's  sake,  for  I  am 
no  longer  accustomed  to  little  children — Moritz  is 
twenty  years  old." 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  madam,"  he  murmured  ;  "indeed 
— I  did  not  know " 

"  Oh,  no  matter,  dear  Hegebach  ;  I  should  merely  like 
to  beg  you  not  to  be  angry  with  the  poor  little  creature 
because  you  will  not  receive  that  sand-hill,  Bennewitz. 
'  Man  proposes,  God  disposes  ; '  who  knows  how  it  may 
all  turn  out  ?  " 

"  My  cousin  marries  next  month,  my  dear  madam." 

"  Well,  let  him  marry,"  was  the  answer.  "  If  the 
much-longed-for  son  is  born  to  him,  the  estate  and  in- 
heritance are  his,  that  we  have  long  known." 

"  And  the  child  !  "  he  cried,  for  the  first  time  letting 
his  wild  grief  burst  forth,  and  tearing  open  his  uniform. 
"  If  it  were  not  I,  Lisa  would  still  be  alive  ;  were  it 
not  I,  a  son  would  have  cried  in  the  cradle  !  Who 
am  I  to  dare  stretch  out  my  hand  for  happiness  ? " 

"  Hegebach  !  "  said  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  reproachfully. 

u  A  girl  without  fortune,"  he  murmured  with  inde- 
scribable bitterness  ;  "  what  that  means  in  our  rank  in 
the  present  time  you  know  as  well  as  I." 

"  Bad  enough,  to  be  sure.  But  she  will  get  along  as 
do  other  poor  girls — she  must  learn  to  work ;  has  two 
dear  little  sound  hands,  and  two  bright  eyes.  What 
shall  her  name  be  ?  "  she  finished  calmly.  "  Shall  she 
have  her  mother's  name,  Elizabeth  ? " 

He  nodded,  and  turned  to  the  window  again. 


A  Poor  Girl. 


"  Good-by,  Hegebach.  Will  you  not  at  least  "see  the 
little  thing  once  ?  " 

He  pressed  his  forehead  against  the  window-pane, 
and  made  a  hasty  gesture  of  dissent. 

"  Well,  then,  I  hope  that  this  child  may  yet  prove  a 
blessing  from  God  to  you,  Hegebach — that  you  will 
thank  Him  on  your  knees  for  the  consolation  sent  you 
in  your  old  age.  May  that  be  your  reward  !  " 

She  went  to  the  dead  wife's  room,  the  flush  of  excite- 
ment on  her  face. 

"  Take  the  child,  Susan  ;  we  will  set  out  now." 

And  followed  by  the  old  woman,  who  carried  the  in- 
fant, its  face  carefully  wrapped  in  a  blue  veil,  she  got 
into  the  carriage. 


8  A  Poor  Girl. 

They  had  no  long  distance  to  drive — down  the  street, 
past  the  old  court-house,  which  still  bore  on  its  walls 
the  traces  of  the  thirty  years'  war  in  the  form  of  iron  can- 
non balls,  through  several  winding  lanes  and  an  old  gate 
which  must  date  back  to  the  middle  ages,  then  along 
the  city  walls,  over  which  peeped  the  tops  of  blooming 
fruit-trees,  along  a  magnificent  linden  alley,  and  through 
a  hospitably  opened  gate,  from  which  the  front  of  a 
high,  massive  building  with  a  colossal  pointed  tiled 
roof,  mossy  and  gray  with  age,  was  visible.  And  just  at 
this  moment,  as  the  carriage  rolled  into  the  yard,  the 
sun  shed  a  golden  light  over  the  old  brick  house,  which 
lay  surrounded  by  lindens  and  ash-trees  which  had  just 
put  forth  a  light  green  veil  of  leaves  on  their  venerable 
heads,  as  though  it  would  give  a  greeting  to  the  orphan 
child  upon  her  entrance  to  this  house,  which  in  charity 
and  compassion  was  to  offer  a  refuge  to  her  childhood. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the  stately  door,  and 
a  strikingly  tall  young  man,  evidently  still  in  travelling 
garb,  sprang  down  the  steps,  threw  open  the  carriage 
door  violently,  and  kissed  both  hands  of  the  lady  as  she 
dismounted. 

"Mother,  had  I  suspected,"  he  said,  "but  I  could 
not  possibly  go  to  the  funeral  in  these  clothes.  But 
what  is  that  ?  "  he  interrupted  himself,  and  pointed  to 
the  woman  who  had  just  alighted  with  the  child. 

"Lisa's  child,  Moritz.  For  God's  sake,  you  will  let 
it  fall." 

But  the  young  man  with  the  frank  handsome  face 


A  Poor  Girl.  9 

had  already  taken  the  little  bundle  in  his  arms  and 
carried  it  into  the  house,  followed  by  the  two  women. 

"  Oh,  goodness  !  "  he  cried,  having  reached  the  com- 
fortable sitting-room,  gazing  tenderly  as  a  woman  at  the 
tiny  little  face.  "  How  it  looks,  mother  ;  so  little  and 
twitching — my  poor  dear  Lisa  !  "  and  he  turned  quickly 
to  the  window  as  if  he  did  not  wish  it  to  be  seen 
that  his  eyes  were  moist.  "  This  is  the  consequence, 
mother,"  he  continued  ;  "had  you  not  persuaded  Lisa 
to  marry  that  old  Captain  she  would  be  living  yet." 

"  Moritz,  you  are  a  monster,"  replied  Mrs.  von 
Ratenovv,  and  she  took  the  child  from  him.  "  Shame 
on  you  !  For  whom  should  the  girl  have  waited  ? 
The  great  boy  has  tears  in  his  eyes.  I  cannot  bear 
to  hear  these  laments  of  'if  and  'but,'  Moritz.  Lisa 
has  fulfilled  her  duty  as  a  woman,  let  her  rest." 

"  And  the  child  will  stay  with  us  ? " 

"  Certainly,  Moritz,"  replied  his  mother  ;  "  where 
should  she  go  ?  " 

"  That  is  so  good  of  you,"  said  he,  and  threw  his 
arm  around  the  stately  woman  ;  "  good,  as  you  alone 
can  be." 

"  No  nonsense,  Moritz.  You  know  that  I  am  no 
sentimentalist,"  said  she,  calmly.  "  Your  father  had  a 
tendency  that  way,  and  you  have  inherited  it,  eh  ?  You 
have  again  spent  all  that  money  in  travelling  expenses 
so  as  to  see  your  mother  and  your  home  again,  you 
boy,  you  !  " 

She  tried  to  look  contemptuous,   but  she  did   not 


io  A  Poor  Girl. 

succeed  ;  the  mother-love  shone  too  plainly  from  her 
eyes  as  she  gazed  at  her  only  son. 

"You  have  hit  it,  mother  ;  I  had  just  time  enough, 
and  I  knew  that  you  would  not  be  vexed." 

"This  confidence,"  said  she,  smiling  ;  "how  well  you 
know  me !  But  now  we  will  attend  to  the  child. 
What  do  you  think,  Moritz ;  shall  I  commission  Aunt 
Lott  with  her  bringing  up  ? " 

"  What  ? "  he  cried,  astonished  and  yet  amused. 
"  Then  I  must  be  present  !  Give  me  the  young  lady, 
I  will  carry  her  upstairs.  I  must  witness  the  scene." 

Aunt  Lott  was  an  adopted  sister  and  cousin  of  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  and  Canoness  of  Z —  ;  but,  with  the 
exception  of  the  prescribed  eight  weeks  which  she 
must  spend  each  -year  in  Z— ,  or  else  forfeit  her 
position,  she  lived  at  the  castle.  She  was  a  quiet,  not 
too  intelligent  creature,  delicate,  pale,  a  bit  literary, 
and  was  the  exact  opposite  of  Mrs.  von  Ratenow, 
although  the  two  had  grown  up  together  since  the 
earliest  childhood.  Aunt  Lott  took  a  romantic  view 
of  everything ;  she  lived  and  breathed  in  the  poetry  of 
the  higher  spheres,  "  high  above  all  the  dust  of  earth." 
She  read  everything  that  she  could  lay  her  hands  upon, 
and  the  more  touching  and  heart-breaking  the  story 
the  more  beautiful  she  thought  it.  She  knew  "  The 
Enchanted  Rose  "  by  heart,  and  when  she  recited  the 
last  verse  her  emotion  rose  to  the  utmost  height : 

"  Of  all  that  blissful  time  remains  to  me 
This  song,  my  sufferings,  and  my  love  alone  .'" 


A  Poor  Girl 


II 


This  was  really  only  sighed,  not  spoken. 

Yes,  fate  had  once  showed  her  a  prize — she  had 
drawn  a  blank  ;  she  had  a  "  grave  "  in  her  heart,  as  she 
was  accustomed  to  assure  her  friends. 


But  in  spite  of  that  the  two  had  always  been  good 
friends.  When  her  practical  cousin  married  Baron  von 
Ratenow,  Lott  had  remained  with  the  lonely  parents, 


12  A  Poor  Girl. 

and  after  their  death  she  found  several  pleasant  rooms 
in  the  upper  story  of  the  spacious  castle,  in  which 
everything  was  so  scrupulously  neat  that  one  fairly 
feared  to  tread  upon  the  dazzlingly  polished  parquet. 

A  purring  cat  sat  on  the  window-seat  behind  snowy 
curtains  ;  the  brass  doors  of  the  tile  stove  shone  like 
pure  gold  ;  a  spinning-wheel  stood  in  the  corner  beside 
the  sofa,  adorned  with  broad  ribbons,  and  the  glass  cup- 
board was  filled  with  all  kinds  of  ornaments  of  a  bygone 
time,  chief  among  which  was  a  Chinaman  of  Meiss- 
ner  porcelain,  which  could  nod  its  head  for  hours  at 
a  time.  It  was  enormously  valuable,  as  Aunt  Lott 
assured  every  one  who  admired  it.  She  sat  by  the 
window  reading  a  psalm  ;  she  wore  a  black  gown  and 
silk  apron,  for  she  had  truly  loved  the  young  woman 
who  had  died  after  such  a  short  life.  It  had  been  in 
this  tidy  little  room  that,  scarcely  a  year  ago,  the  girl, 
weeping  and  frightened,  had  laid  her  hand  in  her 
elderly  bridegroom's,  whom  she  had  met  while  visiting 
at  the  castle,  as  the  large  house  of  the  Ratenows'  was 
called.  They  had  played  whist  together,  and  he  had 
been  vexed  when  she  made  a  mistake.  A  week  later 
his  sabre  clanked  over  the  castle  steps ;  he  had  come 
en  grande  tenue  to  woo.  He  had  sat  in  the  state-room 
down-stairs  for  two  hours,  in  suspense  and  anxiety,  until 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow  said,  "  Wait,  Hegebach  ;  I  will  bring 
the  little  girl  to  her  senses."  And  she  had  gone  up 
into  Aunt  Lett's  room,  where  the  girl  crouched  on  a 
sofa,  trembling  and  weeping,  and  Aunt  Lott  vainly 


A  Poor  Girl.  13 

strove  to  quiet  her  excited  nerves  with  cologne  and 
lavender,  for  this  wooing  had  been  like  lightning  from 
a  cloudless  sky  to  her. 

After  another  hour  she  was  betrothed  ;  the  sonorous 
voice  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  had  been  audible 
almost  in  the  lowest  story  ;  at  least  Moritz,  who  was 
also  home  on  a  visit,  declared  that  he  had  heard  such 
exclamations  as  "suitable  match" — "pretensions" — 
'  what  are  you  waiting  for  ?  "  Into  the  room,  where 
the  mother  had  fought  and  struggled,  Moritz  von 
Ratenow  now  carried  the  little  daughter,  and,  without 
preparation,  laid  it  in  Aunt  Lott's  lap. 

"  There,  auntie,  is  something  for  the  cat  to  be  jeal- 
ous of." 

"  Merciful  heaven  !  "  she  screamed,  and  her  eyes 
wandered  from  the  child  through  the  orderly  room, 
and  rested  upon  the  pale,  grave  face  of  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow. 

"  You  have  the  most  time,  Lott ;  take  the  child.  I 
have  brought  her  nurse,  old  Susan,  with  me;  you  will 
not  have  much  care.  It  could  not  stay  with  him,  for 
it  does  not  yet  smoke  cigars,  and,  as  you  know,  I  can- 
not have  the  care  of  it  with  all  my  housekeeping  duties." 

The  old  maid's  delicate  hands  already  during  this 
speech  had  clasped  the  little  bundle.  She  said  noth- 
ing, she  could  not,  but  she  nodded  so  energetically  and 
affirmatively,  while  her  face  twitched  and  she  wiped 
her  eyes  so  vigorously  that  this  could  be  considered  a 
perfectly  satisfactory  answer.  And  so  Moritz,  at  his 


14  A  Poor  Girl. 

mother's  suggestion,  pushed  aside  the  cupboard  which 
concealed  a  door,  and  when  this  was  opened  a  pleasant 
little  room,  with  blue  chintz  hangings,  was  seen,  which 
had  formerly  been  used  for  guests,  but  was  now 
promoted  to  a  nursery.  Moritz  brought  the  cradle 
upstairs,  and  when  it  grew  dark  Aunt  Lott  sat  with  her 
knitting,  and  near  her,  young  Baron  von  Ratenow  in  the 
light  from  the  night-lamp,  beside  the  swinging  cradle, 
she  in  a  chair  and  he  on  a  stool,  and  they  spoke  in 
whispers  of  the  dead  so  eagerly  that  they  did  not  notice 
that  Mrs.  von  Ratenow's  head  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
and  from  there  she  watched  the  strange  pair.  The 
gray  cat  had  sprung  up  into  the  cradle  and  licked  its 
paws. 

"  A  strange  boy  !  "  murmured  the  mother,  descend- 
ing the  stairs.  "  A  man  with  the  heart  of  a  child — his 
father  all  over  again.  Of  course,  he  does  not  get  it 
from  me."  And  she  took  the  bunch  of  keys  from  her 
girdle  with  such  energy  that  the  girls  in  the  kitchen, 
who  were  talking  eagerly  of  the  little  child  brought  into 
the  house,  hurried  to  their  work,  for  the  mistress  would 
brook  no  trifling. 

So  it  grew  up,  the  child,  in  the  old  house  shaded  by 
lindens,  and  built  of  and  upon  the  ruins  of  a  castle 
which  had  been  burned  down  by  the  Swedes  in  the 
thirty  years'  war.  A  huge  thick  tower  still  stood  in  the 
garden,  a  wall  and  moat  still  surrounded  the  building, 
both  of  which  were  blue  with  violets  in  the  spring. 
There  was  an  old  well,  with  a  sweep,  in  the  garden,  a 


A  Poor  Girl.  15 

dungeon,  and  eerie  ghost  stories  by  the  hundred.  It 
had  long  been  in  the  possession  of  the  Ratenows,  having 
fallen  to  them  through  a  marriage,  a  Ratenow  having  long 
ago  wooed  and  won  a  Burgsdorf,  the  last  of  her  race. 

When  the  child's  bright  eyes  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow, they  gazed  over  the  large  yard  with  the  stables 
and  barns  to  the  roofs  and  towers  of  the  little  city  ;  near 
the  tower  of  the  court-house,  under  the  high  peaked 
slate  roof,  lived  the  solitary  man.  And  when  the  little 
being,  scarce  two  years  old,  was  asked,  "Who  lives 
over  there  ?  "  she  took  her  little  finger  from  her  mouth 
and  pointed  and  said  with  sparkling  eyes,  "  Papa  !  " 

Yes,  papa  ;  the  papa  who  scarcely  knew  his  child, 
who  merely  paid  an  occasional  visit  to  the  castle  from 
a  sense  of  duty,  and  looked  at  the  blonde  child  as 
gloomily  as  though  some  disagreeable  letter  had  been 
presented  to  him.  And  still  the  child  met  him  with  a 
cry  of  joy,  and  reached  out  longingly  for  the  bright 
buttons  of  his  uniform.  There  must  be  something  in 
the  little  heart  which  made  it  turn  unsuspectingly  to 
the  quiet,  embittered  man. 

She  was  a  remarkably  pretty  child,  the  darling  of  the 
whole  house,  great  friends  with  Aunt  Lott,  the  gray  cat, 
and  big  Moritz.  Only  of  Aunt  Ratenow  was  she  afraid ; 
the  rosy  face  became  waxen  at  a  reproving  glance  from 
this  lady's  bright  eyes.  She  rushed  eagerly  to  pick  up 
anything  that  fell  to  the  ground ;  but  she  was  not  as 
smilingly  ready  as  with  Aunt  Lott,  although  she  was  no 
less  pleasantly  thanked. 


1 6  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  She  must  soon  go  to  school,"  said  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now  one  day  as  she  sat  near  the  window,  and  her  eyes 
followed  the  child,  who  ran  across  the  yard,  her  curls 
flying  out  behind  her,  and  vanished  in  the  cow-stables, 
where  she  was  accustomed  to  drink  her  evening  milk. 
"  She  will  be  five  years  old  in  April,"  and  she  pushed 
the  spectacles,  which  she  had  worn  for  two  years,  up  on 
her  smooth  white  forehead,  that  she  might  see  better. 

"  To  school  ?  "  asked  Moritz,  who  was  at  home  for 
his  Easter  vacation,  and  was  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room,  immensely  tall  and  blond  in  his  gray  summer  suit. 
A  pert  little  mustache  covered  his  mouth,  and  his  face 
was  as  rosy  as  ever. 

"  To  school  ?  "  he  asked,  pausing  before  his  mother. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  stared  at  him. 

"  I  know  very  well,  dear  mother,  that  she  must  learn 
to  read  and  write,  but  why  not  here,  in  the  house  ? 
There  are  plenty  of  governesses." 

The  work  sank  into  his  mother's  lap,  and  her  bright 
eyes  had  an  astonished  expression.  "  Moritz,  I  do  not 
know  what  you  are  thinking  of  !  Had  I  daughters  of 
my  own  I  should  perhaps — I  say,  perhaps — have  selected 
this  aristocratic  and  secluded  style  of  instruction,  but 
the  child  would  be  spoiled  by  it,  and — more's  the  pity 
—  she  will  be  soon  enough." 

"  Then  is  the  little  thing  to  trot  all  that  distance  to 
school,  in  all  kinds  of  wind  and  weather  ?  Let  her  at 
least  drive  in  winter,  mother." 

"  Am  I  a  fool,  Moritz  ? "  she  replied,  calmly.     "  If 


A  Poor  Girl.  17 

you  will  guarantee  her  a  carriage  later  —  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned.  Beginning  with  April,  Elsa  goes  to 
school.  How  far  is  it  ?  Down  the  carriage  drive, 
through  the  stone  gate  into  the  rose  alley,  and — she  is 
there  !  " 

"  It  is  for  you  to  decide,  mother." 

"  Right,  my  boy.  And  now  let  us  speak  of  your 
plans.  Well,  then,  when  you  return  in  the  autumn  from 
your  trip  to  Vienna  and  the  Tyrol,  we  will  both  reign 
here  together,  eh  ?  " 

He  laughed  and  kissed  the  hand  which  she  held  out 
to  him. 

"  I  trust  you  do  not  yet  think  of  marrying  ?  "  said  she, 
suddenly,  and  gazed  penetratingly  at  the  young  man. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  replied,  coming  closer  to  her. 
"  I  will  frankly  confess  that  I — have  thought  of  it." 

<%  Hear  the  boy  !  Whom  have  you  chosen,  then, 
child  ? " 

"  An  old  flame,  mother  dear ;  but  do  not  worry  your- 
self, she  is  still  at  boarding-school." 

"  Indeed  !  At  boarding-school  ?  What  will  she 
learn  there,  Moritz  ?  She  will  learn  to  be  pale  and 
fragile,  a  nervous  doll,  so  that  she  will  never  be  a 
healthy  wife  and  mother,  and  what  she  forgets  there, 
you  have  probably  not  considered.  All  taste  for  a 
quiet  family  life — that  will  fly  out  the  window.  You 
should  not  have  let  her  go  there,  Moritz,  if  you  wish 
to  be  happy  with  her." 

For  an  instant  Moritz  looked  really  abashed.  That 
2 


1 8  A  Poor  Girl. 

his  mother  took  the  matter  thus,  startled  and  pleased 
him  at  the  same  time.  He  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  several  times,  his  hands  behind  his  back  ;  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  meanwhile  calmly  continued  knitting  her 
stocking,  from  time  to  time  gazing  out  into  the  yard. 
This  was  her  manner  of  passing  the  time  between  four 
and  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — for  the  rest  of  the 
day  she  gave  herself  little  rest. 

"  Hegebach  intends  to  resign,  Moritz  ;  did  you  know 
it  ?  "  she  asked  after  a  while. 

"  It  is  best  ;  he  will  never  be  promoted,"  replied  the 
son,  "he  quarrels  with  all  his  superior  officers." 

"  But  the  small  pension  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  he  can  live  on  it,  mother." 

"  He  !  He  ! — but  the  girl  ?  "  was  the  impatient  re- 
joinder. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  " 

"  Yes,  merciful  patience,  Moritz — you  speak  of  mar- 
rying !  When  once  you  have  half  a  dozen  children, 
how  do  you  think  I  shall  fare  ? "  She  had  spoken  jest- 
ingly, and  both  laughed. 

"  You  dear  little  mother,"  said  he,  still  laughing,  and 
kissed  her. 

"  No,  joking  aside,"  she  continued,  drawing  back. 
"  I  take  care  of  Elsa — you  need  not  believe  that  I  will 
half  do  the  thing.  She  must  learn  to  do  something.  I 
think  she  will  be  a  governess,  and  I  will  send  her  to 
D —  as  soon  as  she  is  ten  years  old.  That  is  the 
best,  eh,  Moritz  ?  " 


A  Poor  Girl.  19 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  softly,  and  a  little 
head  peeped  into  the  room,  with  hair  like  molten  gold  ; 
a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  looked  out  from  a  rosy 
smiling  face,  and  a  sweet,  clear,  bird-like  voice  asked, 
"  Moritz,  Moritz,  will  you  come  into  the  garden  with 
me  ?  There  is  a  squirrel  in  the  chestnut-tree." 

"  Come  here,  Elsa  ! "  cried  the  young  man,  and  as 
the  child  rushed  up  to  him,  he  picked  her  up  in  his 
arms  like  a  doll,  and  carried  her  to  his  mother. 

"  Look  at  her,  mother,"  he  begged,  in  a  strangely  soft 
voice. 

She  looked  in  the  pure  childish  face,  and  then  up  at 
him,  questioningly. 

"  So,  and  now  run  away,  Elsa,  I  will  follow  you." 
And  the  blond  giant  carefully  opened  the  door  to  let 
the  little  girl  out. 

"  She  is  as  fresh,  healthy  and  happy  as  a  rose-bud, 
is  she  not  ?  "  he  asked,  returning.  "  And  you  will  shut 
her  up  in  a  gloomy  school-room  during  the  loveliest 
days  of  her  girlhood,  and  worry  her  with  severe  intel- 
lectual work !  See,  mother,  I  can  never  sleep  again 
from  thinking  of  it.  What  a  world  of  tears  and  wake- 
ful nights,  of  buried  hopes  and  bitter  renunciation  is 
contained  in  the  words,  '  She  must  be  a  governess  !  ' 
Ah,  mother,  leave  her  her  freedom,  do  not  shut  her  up, 
the  poor  little  midget !  " 

"  How  you  can  say  such  a  thing,  Moritz,  I  do  not 
understand,"  replied  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  impatiently, 
paling  slightly,  "as  though  I  were  about  to  do  the 


20  A  Poor  Girl. 

child  a  great  wrong.  Do  you  know,  that  she  possesses 
nothihg  but  three  hundred  dollars  of  her  mother's,  and 
a  few  trifles  ?  Hegebach  will  leave  at  the  most  debts, 
when  he  closes  his  eyes,  and  what  then  ?  Besides,  it  is 
not  so  dreadful,  Moritz,  and  for  the  present  you  need 
not  pity  your  rose-bud.  Because  you  are  in  love,  my 
dear  boy,  I  will  pardon  you  the  comparison.  What  ? 
She  is  surely  a  rose-bud,  too,"  and  with  these  words 
she  energetically  put  her  knitting  in  its  basket,  and  left 
the  room.  And  immediately  after  her  resonant  voice 
rang  out  from  the  cellar,  "  I  will  show  you  that  it  can 
be  done.  One  can  do  everything  that  one  chooses  !  " 

Late  in  the  evening,  Moritz  von  Ratenow  knocked  at 
the  door  of  his  mother's  bedroom. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  ride  into  the  yard,"  she 
called  from  within.  "  Come  in.  Where  have  you 
been  ? " 

He  entered,  and  walked  cautiously  up  to  the  canopy 
bed.  The  full  moon  shed  its  light  through  the  arched 
window  and  lit  up  the  cosey  old  room  so  plainly. 

How  long  it  was  since  he  had  been  here  !  There, 
over  the  chest  of  drawers,  hung  his  father's  portrait, 
and  beneath  that  his  own  picture  taken  when  a  boy. 
Here  stood  a  cupboard  in  which  his  mother  kept  all 
her  relics,  her  bridal  wreath  and  his  first  little  cap,  his 
father's  spurs  and  sword,  and  the  last  bouquet  of  wild 
flowers  which  he  had  picked  for  her  the  day  before  his 
death,  and  here  it  was  again,  the  delicate  perfume  of 
lavender — it  suddenly  seemed  that  he  was  again  a  little 


A  Poor  Girl.  21 

boy,  and  came  to  his  mother  to  confess  some  foolish 
act. 

"What  do  you  wish,  my  boy  ? "  she  asked  gently,  in 
her  Bremen  dialect.  "  Where  were  you  ?  " 

Suddenly  he  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
and  seized  her  hands.  "  Guess,"  said  he,  hesitatingly. 
"  But  no,  you  cannot  guess — I  was  at  Teesfeld — at  my 
future  father-in-law's." 

"  Oh,  you  dreadful  boy  !  "  cried  Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 

"  It  was  only  about  the  pension,  mother  ;  I  told  him 
that  I  love  Frieda  and  she  loves  me,  and  if  Mr.  von 
Teesfeld  has  no  objection,  we  will  marry  as " 

"  And  he  has  no  objection,  of  course  ? "  she  in- 
quired with  an  imperceptible  accession  of  pride. 

"  Oh,  Heaven  forbid,  mother  ?  Well,  in  a  word, 
Frieda  is  coming  back  from  the  boarding-school." 

"  How  old  is  she,  Moritz  ?" 

"  Sixteen  and  a  half  ;  Mrs,  von  Teesfeld  thought  we 
should  wait  four  years  yet." 

"  Very  sensible,  Moritz." 

"  Are  you  satisfied,  then,  mother  ?  "  he  asked,  softly. 

"  Ah,  of  what  use  would  it  be  were  I  not  ?  She  is 
the  child  of  good  people,  Moritz,  in  suitable  circum- 
stances, and  if  she  is  like  her  father,  she  will  be  a  good 
wife."  She  was  silent,  as  though  pondering.  "  I  have 
been  too  thoughtless;  had  I  suspected  that  she  would 
be  my  daughter-in-law — yes,  yes,"  she  continued,  "it 
seems  to  me  that  your  father  once  told  me  that  Frieda 
was  just  such  a  fly-away  as  her  mother.  Yes,  I  remem- 


22  A   Poor  Girl. 

ber  distinctly.  Well,  listen  :  if  such  is  the  case,  hold 
the  reins  tightly  from  the  very  first;  you  will  have  much 
to  teach  her." 

He  laughed.  "  She  is  sweet,  mamma,  just  because 
she  is  such  a  witch. " 

"There  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,  Moritz,"  said  she, 
reprovingly.  "  But  now  go  to  sleep.  I  will  drive  to 
Teesfeld  to-morrow.  As  your  mother,  I  must  do  this 
for  your  sake,  eh  ? "  And  she  stroked  his  luxuriant 
blonde  hair.  "  Now  go  to  sleep,  do  not  gaze  at  the 
moon  ;  do  you  hear,  Moritz  ?  " 

And  when  he  had  gone,  she  remained  sitting  up  in 
bed  for  a  long  time,  her  hands  folded.  "  I  am  glad  that 
he  is  so  resolute,"  said  she  at  length,  aloud.  "When 
his  father  courted  me  all  his  friends  and  relatives  knew 
of  it,  and  the  very  birds  sang  of  it  on  the  roofs.  The 
boy  knows  what  he  wants — he  gets  that  from  me." 


II. 


THE  door  in  the  old  frame  house  whose  windows 
overlooked  the  monotonous  narrow  street  was  softly 
opened,  and  the  dainty  figure  of  a  little  girl  of  probably 
ten  years  hurried  in.  The  child  wore  a  simple  gray 
alpaca  frock,  a  brown  straw  hat  with  brown  ribbons, 
from  beneath  which  hung  two  heavy  pale  blonde  braids. 
In  her  hand  she  carefully  held  a  little  basket  filled  with 
pears  and  grapes,  and  in  spite  of  her  thick  leather  boots, 
she  mounted  the  steep  wooden  stairs  almost  inaudibly, 
and  knocked  at  the  door  upstairs. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  a  man's  voice,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment Elsa  von  Hegebach  stood  in  the  little  room  filled 
with  tobacco  smoke,  before  her  father. 

He  had  grown  very  old,  the  man,  and  he  looked 
neglected  in  his  faded  dressing-gown  which  he  had 
adopted  since  his  resignation.  He  had  grown  sallow, 
and  the  embittered  expression  of  his  face  had  become 
the  predominating  one.  But  the  rosy  child's  face 
nevertheless  leaned  with  sweet  confidence  against  his 
cheek. 


24  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Papa,  how  are  you  ? "  she  asked,  and  quickly  set- 
ting the  little  basket  down  upon  the  table,  she  threw 
both  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  Pray  do  not  ask,"  was  the  irritable  reply. 

A  shade  fell  upon  the  child's  smiling  face.  "  Papa, 
may  I  stay  with  you  for  a  little  while  ?  "  she  asked, 
shyly,  "  or  are  you  going  to  the  club  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  the  club,  you  know  very  well,  but 
Susan  is  down-stairs." 

"  Dear  papa" — the  little  rosy  mouth  drooped,  but 
the  tears  were  suppressed  bravely — "  I  will  go  down 
again  at  once,  but  you  know  I  must  tell  you  good-by 
to-day  ;  to-morrow  I  am  to  go  to  D ' 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  up  from  the  paper, 
"  when  do  you  leave  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Cramm  said  I  must  be  at  her  house  at  seven  in 
the  morning.  Aunt  Ratenow  has  asked  Mrs.  Cramm 
to  take  me  with  her.  Annie  is  going  to  D —  also,  and 
because  Moritz  is  to  be  married  to-morrow,  and  they 
will  all  be  at  Teesfeld,  and  no  one  can  take  me — 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  interrupted,  impatiently,  "  it  is  very 
sensible  so  ;  the  term  probably  begins  day  after  to-mor- 
row ?  " 

"Yes,  papa.  Shall  I  read  aloud  to  you  from  the 
paper,  papa  ? " 

"  No,  thanks  !  Well,  a  happy  journey,  Elsa,  and  be 
industrious."  He  held  out  his  hand,  and  picked  up  his 
newspaper  again. 

The  child  stood  perfectly  motionless,  her  pale  lips 


A  Poor  Girl.  25 

twitched  slightly,  but  no  word  issued  from  them,  only 
the  sweet  eyes  gradually  became  staring.  She  turned 
and  left  the  room. 

"  Elsa,"  was  called  after  her;  she  started,  "give 
those  things  to  Susan — I  never  eat  such."  And  he 
pointed  to  the  dainty  little  basket. 

Suddenly  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  him,  the 
irritable,  unfriendly  man.  "  Papa  !  papa  !  "  she  cried 
shrilly,  "  why  do  you  not  love  me  a  little  bit  ?  Why  do 
you  never  speak  kindly  to  me  as  Annie's  papa  does  ?  " 
Her  whole  little  frame  quivered  in  passionate  excite- 
ment ;  she  leaned  her  blonde  head  against  his  knee  and 
burst  into  convulsive  sobs. 

"  Dear  heaven,  child,  pray  stand  up,"  cried  old 
Susan,  who  had  come  in  when  the  girl  began  to  weep, 
and  she  raised  the  half-resisting  child  and  took  her 
in  her  arms,  glancing  severely  at  the  Major.  He 
had  sprung  up,  and  now  walked  excitedly  about  the 
room. 

"  Who  has  done  anything  to  you  ?  "  he  asked,  half 
anxiously,  half  vexedly ;  "have  you  been  scolded? 
What  is  the  matter  ?  Pray  tell  me  !  If  you  are  ill 
Susan  shall  take  you  home  and  put  you  to  bed." 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  was  the  low  reply.  "  Good-by, 
papa."  And  hastily  wiping  her  eyes,  she  left  the 
room  and  went  into  the  one  which  formerly  had  been 
her  mother's,  and  which  Susan  had  occupied  since  she 
had  kept  house  for  the  Major.  The  child  quietly 
seated  herself  by  the  window,  and  gazed  out  into  the 


26  A  Poor  Girl. 

uncultivated  garden  ;  she  had  been  so  sad  these  last 
few  weeks. 

Then  Aunt  Ratenow  had  summoned  her  to  her  room 
one  day,  and  had  told  her — how  was  it  ? 

"  Elsa,"  she  had  begun,  smoothing  the  child's  soft 
blonde  hair,  "  you  are  now  ten  years  old,  and  a  sensible 
child,  it  is  now  time  to  speak  with  you  of  all  sorts  of 
grave  matters.  Listen,  every  one  must  be  of  some  use 
in  life,  if  she  wishes  to  be  happy,  and  you  wish  to  be,  do 
you  not  ?  Many  people  are  born,  so  to  say,  with  a 
silver  spoon  in  their  mouths,  and  need  have  no  cares  in 
their  whole  lives,  need  not  ask,  '  What  shall  we  eat,  what 
shall  we  drink,  how  shall  we  be  clothed  ? '  Others,  dur- 
ing their  whole  lives,  must  repeatedly  ask  themselves 
these  questions,  and  that  is  not  the  worst  by  far,  for  the 
Bible  says,  'A  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abun- 
dance of  things  which  he  possesseth.'  Your  father, 
Elsa,  is  a  sickly,  lonely  man,  who  has  borne  much  in 
this  life,  and  he  is  a  poor  man — he  cannot  give  you  a 
silver  spoon.  But  instead  of  this,  the  good  God  has 
given  you  good  sense,  and  a  healthy,  strong  body,  and 
it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  answer  the  questions  of  which 
I  just  spoke,  if  you  have  the  honest  will.  I  should  like 
to  impress  it  upon  you  to  be  very  good  and  diligent, 
Elsa,  so  that  you  will  pass  your  governess's  examinations 
well ;  this  is  almost  the  only  path  which  a  young  lady 
of  rank  has  before  her,  if  she  must  stand  on  her  own 
feet  in  the  world." 

It  seemed  to  the  child  that  suddenly  a  dark  veil  was 


A  Poor  Girl.  27 

thrown  over  the  modest  pleasures  of  her  whole  life. 
The  gray-school  room  appeared  before  her  eyes,  with 
the  close  atmosphere,  the  walls  which  seemed  to  crush 
her,  the  windows  through  which  so  seldom  a  sunbeam 
fell.  And  she  was  to  be  shut  up  in  this  room,  she  who 
loved  flowers,  air  and  sunlight  so  greatly  ;  shut  up  not 
only  until  she  were  grown — no,  forever,  forever !  But 
that  was  impossible  ! 

"  Well,  Elsa,  are  you  not  pleased  ?  " 

She  not  only  shook  her  head — the  whole  delicate 
frame  quivered  with  dread. 

"  Then  remain  a  little  stupid,  then  you  will  be  like 
Susan,  and  one  who  has  learned  nothing  will  be  treated 
like  her." 

"  But  why  should  I  ?  "  she  had  cried  ;  "  all  the  other 
girls  need  not !  "  And  the  large  fawn-like  eyes  gazed 
up  into  the  stately  woman's  grave  face,  as  if  there  seek- 
ing the  solution  of  an  incomprehensible  riddle. 

"  Oh,  many  must,  Elsa,  and  you  among  them.  It  is 
my  duty  to  educate  you  so  that  you  can  be  indepen- 
dent. Now  go  ;  you  know  you  must  be  obedient,  Elsa, 
even  if  you  do  not  now  see  why." 

Then  she  had  gone  to  Aunt  Lott,  pale  and  with 
hurried  breath.  "  I  am  to  go  away,  aunt  !  "  She  could 
say  nothing  else  then,  and  her  gaze  had  wandered  over 
the  comfortable  room,  and  remained  fixed  upon  the 
good  old  face.  Then  she  had  seen  two  tears  roll  down 
the  wrinkled  cheeks  upon  the  cap-strings,  and  she  had 
been  so  frightened  that  she  could  not  cry. 


28  A  Poor  Girl. 


She  was  to  go  away  for  such  a  very  long  time,  away 
from  her  childhood's  home,  from  the  shady  garden, 
from  Moritz,  from  all.  And  yesterday  Aunt  Lott  had 
packed  her  trunk  with  many  tears,  and  she  had  taken 
leave  of  her,  of  Aunt  Ratenow,  and  of  dear,  dear  Moritz, 
for  they  had  all  gone  to  Teesfeld  yesterday  to  the  wed- 
ding. Aunt  Lott  had  taken  down  her  gray  silk  gown 
from  the  closet,  and  had  even  mounted  her  Pegasus 
for  the  solemn  occasion.  Elsa  knew  the  poem  by  heart; 
it  had  a  decided  resemblance  to  the  "Enchanted  Rose," 
and  there  was  a  great  deal  about  love,  chains  of 
roses,  and  the  magic  of  love.  Oh,  it  must  be  so  pleasant 
to  go  to  a  wedding.  She  would  have  so  liked  to  go, 
but  Aunt  Ratenow  had  not  permitted  it  on  account  of 
the  journey.  "  What  would  you  do  there,  Elsa  ?  "  she 
had  said  ;  "  children  are  only  in  the  way." 

She  had  been  alone  all  day,  even  the  cat  had  gone  to 
take  a  walk  upon  the  roof.  What  comfort  was  it  to  her 
that  at  noon  the  maid  brought  her  a  glass  of  wine  and 
a  piece  of  cake  for  dessert  ?  "  From  the  young  master, 
Elsa  ;  he  impressed  it  upon  me,"  she  had  said.  But  for 
the  first  time  Elsa  felt  the  pangs  of  loneliness — the  hot, 
deep  longing  for  a  heart  which  belonged  wholly  to  her, 
to  which  she  had  a  sacred  right.  And  then  she  had 
run  to  papa. 

Now  she  sprang  up  suddenly — she  could  stay  no 
longer  in  the  small,  unhomelike  room.  It  smelled  of 
bad  coffee,  there  were  grease-spots  upon  the  floor,  and 
on  the  wall  hung  the  old  woman's  entire  wardrobe  ;  the 


A  Poor  Ctrl. 


29 


simple  mahogany  furniture  was  dulled  and  the  sofa 
covering  moth-eaten  and  shabby.  She  ran  down  the 
stairs  as  if  chased,  hurried  through  several  streets,  and 
then  stood  in  the  church-yard,  panting  for  breath,  before 
the  ivy-covered  mound  of  the  mother  she  had  never 
known. 


The  September  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  ;  dark 
clouds  had  gathered  in  the  west,  and  the  evening  breeze 
cooled  the  tear-stained  childish  face.  And  so  she  sat 
there  until  the  sexton's  wife  chanced  to  pass  her,  and 
called  to  her  pleasantly  that  she  must  go  now,  for  the 
church-yard  was  to  be  closed  at  once. 

She  hastily  picked  a  few  ivy  leaves  before  she  left  the 
grave.  And  then  she  stood  by  the  window  in  Aunt 
Lott's  cheerful  room  and  listened  to  the  singing  and 


3° 


A  Poor  Girl. 


laughter  of  the  maids  and  grooms,  who  celebrated  their 
master's  wedding  with  punch  until  far  into  the  night. 

When  on  the  following  morning  the  sun  slowly 
broke  through  the  clouds  about  eight  o'clock,  it  shone 
upoti  a  child's  pale  face,  whose  large  questioning  eyes 
peeped  out  of  the  window  of  a  carriage  which  was  roll- 
ing rapidly  along  the  highway.  On  the  back  seat  sat 
a  round  comfortable  looking  woman  in  a  black  velvet 
mantle,  and  a  corpulent  little  man,  while  between  them 
was  their  daughter,  a  snub-nosed  child  with  straw- 
colored  hair.  They  were  taking  her  to  the  famous 
old  D —  institute  for  a  couple  of  years.  Each  parent 
held  one  little  hand,  and  the  mother's  eyes  showed 
plainly  how  bitterly  she  had  wept.  Elsa  sat  alone  on 
the  front  seat  with  the  luggage,  and  to  the  child  the  un 
known  strange  life  in  which  her  little  feet  had  to-day 
taken  the  first  steps  looked  gloomy  and  hard. 


III. 


EIGHT  years  had  elapsed  since  that  time,  and  had 
left  their  traces  on  the  inhabitants  of  the  little  city. 

Major  von  Hegebach  still  sat  in  his  ugly  sitting-room 
smoking  and  reading,  old  Susan  still  made  her  dreadful 
coffee,  but  the  Major  no  longer  went  so  regularly  to  the 
club  ;  it  was  hard  for  him  to  walk,  he  limped.  Fatal 
gout  had  deprived  him  of  the  only  diversion  which  he 
now  possessed,  and  his  temper  was  not  improved  there- 
by. Old  Susan  had  a  harder  time  than  ever,  but  she 
did  not  think  so,  for  she  had  grown  stupider,  and  ex- 
cept her  coffee-pot,  scarcely  anything  in  the  world  in- 
terested her — Elsa,  perhaps,  excepted. 

Regularly  every  four  weeks  had  a  letter  been  laid  upon 
the  old  man's  writing-desk,  and  the  handwriting  had 
gradually  changed  from  a  childish  scrawl  to  a  fine 
elegant  woman's  writing,  not  without  character.  He 
had  answered  but  one  ;  that  was  when  Elsa  was  con- 
firmed, and  then  with  the  letter  had  come  a  garnet 
necklace,  the  only  ornament  which  her  dead  mother 
had  possessed. 

A  tender  thankful  letter  had  come  in  reply,  with  the 


32  A  Poor  Girl. 

childish  promise  always  to  be  an  obedient  daughter  to 
her  dear  papa.  And  now,  to-day,  a  little  note  again  lay 
before  him. 

MY  DEAR,  REVERED  PAPA  : 

You  shall  be  the  first  to  learn  that  I  have  passed  my  examina- 
tion A.  No.  i  !  The  principal  just  sent  for  me  to  tell  me.  I  am 
so  glad  and  happy,  all  my  pains  are  forgotten.  Now  I  shall  come 
in  a  few  days,  my  dear  papa,  and  I  shall  be  glad  with  all  my  heart 
to  see  you  again.  Your  loving  daughter,  ELSA. 

He  had  read  the  letter  again  and  again,  and  his  face 
grew  more  and  more  grave  as  he  did  so.  And  while  he 
brooded  over  it,  an  old  woman's  two  hands  up  in  the 
castle  were  busy  preparing  the  room  for  the  child  who 
was  to  return  home.  Aunt  Lott  and  Aunt  Ratenow 
had  received  the  same  joyous  news  by  the  second  post, 
and  the  first  had  immediately  set  about  rearranging  the 
young  girl's  former  nursery,  for  of  course  she  would 
occupy  this  room  again. 

Down  in  old  Mrs.  von  Ratenow's  sitting-room  nothing 
had  changed  in  the  course  of  years,  only  she  herself 
had  grown  somewhat  stouter,  and  her  face  expressed 
perhaps  more  plainly  unbending  will  and  quick,  ener- 
getic activity.  And  yet  there  was  something  new  here 
which  lent  the  comfortable  room  with  the  soft  carpet, 
the  heavy  blue  hangings,  and  the  shining  old  bronze 
ornaments  an  indescribably  home-like,  cosey  character. 
Before  the  chimney,  in  which  a  fire  flickered,  crouched 
three  children  playing,  a  boy  and  two  girls,  two  blonde 


A  Poor  Girl.  33 

blue-eyed  maidens,  with  the  rosy  complexion  of  their 
father,  whom  they  strikingly  resembled,  and  a  dark  lit- 
tle rogue  of  a  boy — the  youngest.  There  were  noise 
and  laughter  here  which  would  have  pained  the  ears  of 
any  one  but  a  grandmother.  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  never- 
theless, seemed  not  to  hear  ;  she  was  reading  a  letter, 
let  it  sink,  and  then  read  on  again. 

"  Lulu,"  cried  she,  "run  and  bring  papa  to  me." 

The  eldest,  a  slender  girl  of  five,  sprang  up  and  ran 
quickly  out  of  the  room.  A  little  while  after  a  small, 
indescribably  dainty  little  woman,  dressed  entirely  in 
elegant  black,  fairly  floated  under  the  blue  portieres, 
and  was  greeted  by  the  children  with  loud  cries, 
"  Mamma,  mamma  !  " 

"  You  dear  little  things,"  said  she,  kissing  the  chil- 
dren, and  then  to  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  with  eager  curi- 
osity, "  Moritz  is  coming  at  once,  mamma — what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Is  your  name  Moritz,  little  curiosity  ?  "  said  she, 
not  unpleasantly,  but  also  not  very  encouragingly. 

But  the  little  creature  would  not  be  frightened  away; 
she  threw  her  arms  around  the  old  lady's  neck  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  dear  mamma,  you  know  that  I  am  frightfully 
curious;  it  surely  is  not  a  state  secret.  Please,  please, 
let  me  stay  !  " 

"  Will  you  ever  be  sensible,  Frieda  ?  Will  you  al- 
ways remain  a  child  ?  But  that  is  what  comes  of  it, 
because  Moritz  spoils  you  so  terribly. " 

She  had  been  made  to  be  indulged,  this  charming 
3 


34  A  Poor   Girl. 

little  person  with  the  dainty  frame,  the  delicate  oval 
face,  and  the  shining  blue-black  hair  which,  arranged 
simply,  displayed  the  beautiful  shape  of  the  head,  with 
the  large  deep  blue  eyes  under  long  black  lashes.  No 
wonder  that  "the  boy,"  as  his  mother  called  him,  was 
as  much  in  love  to-day  as  in  the  first  days  of  his  mar- 
ried life. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  entering  the  room,  speaking  as 
though  vexed,  but  with  sparkling  eyes,  "  here  she  is  to 
learn  what  it  is  all  about." 

"  I  know  nothing  yet,  Moritz." 

"  That  is  certainly  very  sad,  little  wife.  Hush,  you 
romps,"  cried  he,  holding  his  ears.  "  Who  can  speak 
a  word  here  ?  Go  down-stairs  to  Caroline." 

The  mother  had  meanwhile  handed  her  son  the  letter. 

"  Elsa  has  passed  her  examinations  and  is  coming 
Thursday,"  she  remarked. 

"  Ah,  really  !  "  cried  the  stately  man,  pleased.  "  Well, 
thank  goodness,  she  will  be  glad  to  be  able  to  turn  her 
back  on  the  school-room." 

"  I  merely  wished  to  ask  you,  Moritz,  what  is  to  be- 
come of  her  now  ?  " 

His  honest  kind  eyes  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 
"  Nothing  at  all  for  the  present,  mamma.  I  think  the 
poor  thing  must  have  a  rest  first  ;  she  will  need  some 
recreation." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  nodded.  "  Very  good.  But  you 
make  her  return  to  her  father's  house  so  much  the 
harder." 


A  Poor  Girl.  35 

"  Yes,  Moritz,  you  will  only  spoil  her  by  that,"  cried 
the  young  wife  in  assent. 

"  Mercy  !  The  poor  child  !  Why  should  she  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  old  polar  bear?"  came  from 
the  man's  lips,  compassionately. 

"  It  is  her  duty  to  tend  her  old  father  ;  the  man  fairly 
starves,  Moritz  ;  Susan  grows  older  and  diftier  every 
day." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  mother,"  he  interrupted  her, 
"but  not  just  yet;  we  have  time  enough  to  consider 
that.  The  house  down  there  must  at  least  be  so  re- 
paired that  it  is  a  fit  home  for  human  beings.  Had  I 
suspected  it  I  should  have  attended  to  it  long  ago,  but 
I  will  not  take  the  girl  there  as  it  is  now.  The  first  two 
weeks  she  will  spend  here  ;  do  not  attempt  to  dissuade 
me." 

"  Here  we  are  again  on  the  same  spot,"  said  the  old 
lady. 

"And  on  the  right  one,  mother." 

A  short  pause  ensued,  during  which  only  the  click  of 
the  knitting-needles  was  heard. 

"  It  is  two  years  ago  to-day  since  the  accident 
happened  to  the  Bennewitzer's  two  sons,"  began  the 
young  man  at  length.  "  It  is  fearful  to  lose  two  chil- 
dren at  once." 

"  Heavens,  yes,  it  is  horrible,"  chimed  in  the  young 
wife.  "  I  do  not  understand  even  to-day  how  it  could 
happen." 

"  Very  simply,  Frieda.     The  two  boys  had  gone  out 


A  Poor  Girl. 


sailing  alone  on  the  Elbe,  and  a  sudden  gust  of  wind 
must  have  capsized  the  boat ;  the  corpses  were  not 
found  until  the  following  day." 


"  Yes,  that  is  hard,"  remarked  Mrs.  von  Ratenow, 
and  involuntarily  dried  her  forehead  with  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  It  is  also  just  four  years  ago  that  his  wife  died  !  " 

Suddenly  she  let  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap  and  stared 
thoughtfully  before  her.  At  length  she  said  with  a  deep 
blush,  "  Could  not  Elsa — the  man  is  wealthy  and  quite 
alone " 

"  Indeed  I  have  thought  of  that,"  replied  Moritz. 
"  Meanwhile,  as  daughters  are  expressly  excluded  from 
inheriting,  according  to  the  will  of  the  deceased  uncle, 
and  the  Bennewitzer  is  not  at  all  an  old  man,  one  can 
scarcely  doubt  that  he  will  marry  again,  and " 

"'The  bread  falls  out  of  the  beggar's  pocket  again 
and  again,'  is  an  old  proverb,  my  boy,"  Mrs.  von  Rate- 


A  Poor  Girl.  37 

now  interrupted  him,  having  fully  recovered  her  self- 
possession,  "  but  I  must  invite  him  here,  Moritz  —  I 
found  his  card  recently." 

"  Do  you  know  the  Bennewitzer  Hezebach  well, 
mamma  ?  "  asked  the  young  wife.  "  I  have  never 
troubled  myself  about  him,  but  my  sister  Lili  raves 
over  him,"  she  continued  ;  "  he  is  a  stately  man,  and 
certainly  does  not  resemble  his  cousin.  I  know  noth- 
ing further." 

But  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  made  no  reply. 

"  Moritz,"  she  asked,  "  how  are  the  roads  ?  " 

"Good  and  firm,  mother — the  rain  scarcely  laid  the 
dust." 

"  Then  pray  excuse  me,  I  have  a  visit  to  pay."  She 
had  risen,  and  nodding  pleasantly  to  the  young  couple, 
went  into  her  adjoining  bedroom. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  mother  ?  "  asked  Moritz. 

"  Mamma,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  am  going  to  Mrs. 
von  Kayser's,"  cried  the  young  lady  through  the  crack 
of  the  door,  "  if  you  can  wait  that  long." 

"  Thanks,  child,  I  am  going,"  was  the  answer.  But 
they  received  no  answer  to  the  question,  "  Where  are 
you  going  ? " 

It  was  quite  dark  when  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  returned, 
and  going  directly  upstairs,  knocked  at  Aunt  Lett's 
door  and  immediately  after  entered  the  room.  Aunt 
Lott  sat  at  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the  autumn 
garden.  She  had  laid  away  book  and  knitting,  the  twi- 
light had  so  deepened. 


38  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  No,  Lott,  it  is  incredible,"  cried  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now,  and  seated  herself,  out  of  breath,  on  the  nearest 
chair. 

Aunt  Lott  was  frightened,  her  cousin  so  seldom  lost 
her  reserved  calm  manner. 

"  Dear  Ratenow  !  For  God's  sake  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  "  asked  she,  leaving  the  window. 

"  No,  Lott,  I  have  come  to  you  because  I  cannot 
speak  with  Moritz  about  it.  What  has  happened  ? 
Well,  you  know  Elsa  comes  to-morrow.  Moritz  and 
I  hold  different  views  concerning  her  future  position. 
I  said  she  must  go  to  her  father,  he  said  that  was 
horrible,  she  should  come  here " 

"  And  Frieda  ?  "  Aunt  Lott  ventured  to  interrupt. 

"Frieda?  Frieda  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  was 
the  reply  in  a  very  contemptuous  tone  ;  "  she  says  one 
thing  this  time,  another  thing  another  time,  just  as  suits 
her,  but  she  has  no  judgment,  never  had  any.  If  she 
wished  to  have  private  theatricals  and  needed  some  one 
for  a  role  for  which  Elsa  was  adapted,  she  would  say, 
'  Ah,  mamma,  do  not  let  her  go  to  her  surly  old  father;' 
and  if  there  chanced  to  be  thirteen  at  table,  she  would 
probably  have  declared,  'Oh,  yes,  mamma,  the  child 
belongs  to  her  father  ' — merely  on  account  of  the  omi- 
nous number." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  paused  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  in  short,"  she  continued,  while  she  hastily  un- 
fastened her  heavy  silk  mantle,  "  I  dressed  and  went 
to  see  Hegebach.  I  hoped  that  he  would  wish  to  have 


A  Poor  Girl.  39 

the  child  in  his  house,  so  that  his  old  days  might  be  a 
trifle  cheered.  And  what  do  you  think,  Lott  ? "  she 
cried,  with  raised  voice,  and  let  her  hand  fall  heavily 
upon  the  top  of  the  table.  "  He  does  not  want  her  ! 
Have  you  ever  read  in  any  of  your  stupid  novels  of  a 
father  who  did  not  wish  to  receive  his  only  child  into 
his  house  ?  He  grew  fairly  violent  at  last,  he  trembled 
in  every  limb,  spoke  of  the  hundred  claims  of  a  young 
girl,  and  that  he  had  but  one — rest,  rest,  rest !  " 

"  But  dear  Ratenow,  you  excite  yourself  more  than 
necessary,"  cried  Aunt  Lott,  trying  to  sooth  her.  "  He 
has  always  been  so." 

"  But  the  man  should  not  grow  angry,"  continued 
the  irritated  woman.  "  He  showed  me  very  plainly 
that  he  had  no  use  for  such  an  article  of  luxury  as  a 
grown  daughter.  He  had  scarcely  what  he  needed  for 
himself,  he  had  payments  to  make  each  month  on  his 
old  lieutenant  debts — who  would  undertake  that  after 
his  death  ?  He  could  do  no  more  than  what  he 
had  done  when  he  gave  the  three  hundred  dollars 
which  Lisa  had  brought  him  for  her  education.  Elsa 
might  now  make  use  of  what  she  had  learned,  and 
so  on." 

"  The  poor  girl !  The  poor  girl  !  "  said  Aunt  Lott, 
and  drew  her  handkerchief  across  her  eyes. 

"  But  I  talked  to  him,  Lott,"  continued  the  excited 
lady,  "  and  you  know  that  my  words  are  not  honeyed." 

Aunt  Lott  was  silent,  she  knew  that  only  too  well. 

"  He  became  quiet  and  pale  at  last,  but  of  what  use 


40  A  Poor  Girl. 

was  it  ?  I  meant  well  with  him — one  can  force  no  one 
to  be  happy " 

"  And  now,  dear  Ratenow  ?  " 

"  Well,  now  Moritz  will  have  his  way,"  was  the 
grumbling  answer. 

"  Ah,  let  it  be,  cousin,"  said  Aunt  Lott  kindly,  whose 
heart  secretly  rejoiced  that  her  darling  was  to  return, 
"  let  it  be — who  knows  what  will  happen,  see — 

"  I  know  very  well,  Lott,"  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  inter- 
rupted her ;  "  it  will  be  a  life  of  pure  gayety,  a  spoiling  in 
all  earnest,  as  is  now,  alas,  the  fashion  with  us,  and  she 
must  work  some  day,  for  the  '  must  '  will  come,  you 
may  depend  upon  it,  and  perhaps  at  no  distant  time. 
But  then  she  will  have  forgotten  to  accommodate  herself 
and  submit  to  others." 

"Oh,  that  is  in  God's  hands,  dear.     She  may  marry." 

"  Will  you  assure  her  a  dowry,  Charlotte  ?  "  she 
asked,  mockingly  ;  "  then  do  not  make  it  too  small." 

"  Oh,  this  prose  !  "  groaned  Aunt  Lott,  insulted. 

"You  will  not  bake  a  single  roll  with  your  poesy,  nor 
once  cover  the  table.  Every  one  has  a  stomach,  my 
dear,  and  even  in  the  tenderest  love  passages  one  gets 
hungry  ;  that  our  young  men  of  to-day  know  very  well, 
and  they  know,  in  addition,  that  caviare  tastes  better 
than  barley  broth." 

Aunt  Lott  did  not  utter,  a  syllable  in  reply  to  this 
bitterly  realistic  declaration.  After  a  while  of  deepest 
silence,  she  began  again,  shyly  : 

"  Ratenow,  I  have  an  idea  if  you— no,  if  Moritz — 


A  Poor  Girl,  41 

Frieda  said  the  other  day  that  she  must  soon  have 
a  governess.  If  Elsa  should  try  her  hand  with  the 
children,  she  would  then  have  a  serious  occupation, 
and " 

She  paused  anxiously  and  tried  to  see  the  features  of 
the  woman  sitting  opposite  her,  in  the  deep  twilight. 

"  That  is — perhaps  that  would  do,  Lott,"  said  Mrs. 
Ratenow,  and  rose.  "  That  really  is  not  a  bad  idea, 
Lott — I  will  speak  to  Moritz  at  once." 

She  picked  up  her  mantle  and  hung  it  over  her  arm. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Lottie,"  she  said,  turning  at  the  door, 
"  I  am  very  anxious  to  keep  the  child  near  me,  and  she 
will  not  be  exactly  a  governess — but  do  not  let  her  no- 
tice it.  Good  evening,  Lott  !  " 

And  then  the  door  closed,  and  the  firm  tread  echoed 
from  the  corridor,  and  Aunt  Lott  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  quiet  little  room,  shaking  her  head.  Oh,  this  world 
becomes  more  and  more'prosaic  ! 


IV. 

A  DREARY,  disagreeable  Octobei  day  was  drawing  to 
a  close.  The  locomotive,  a  long  train  of  cars  behind 
it,  rushed  through  the  heavy  gray  fog,  its  red  eyes 
glowing,  and  blew  mighty  clouds  of  smoke  into  the 
white  sea  of  vapor,  and  now  fog  and  smoke  whirled 
and  curled  in  wild,  fantastic  forms,  they  clung  to  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  ever  giving  place  to  new  ones, 
incessantly  rushing  madly  on. 

At  the  window  of  the  ladies'  carriage  stood  a  young 
girl,  so  tall  and  slender  that  the  ribbon  of  her  round 
straw  hat  was  almost  as  high  as  the  lower  sash  of  the 
window.  She  was  the  only  occupant  of  the  coupe"  this 
cold,  wet  autumn  evening,  but  her  young  face  expressed 
no  sense  of  cold  and  loneliness,  her  cheeks  glowed  in 
happy  expectation,  the  brown  fawn-like  eyes  shone,  her 
full  little  mouth  wore  a  half  smile,  or  remained  open  for 
a  moment,  as  if  in  expectation  of  something  wonderful, 
which  lent  the  face  a  sweet  childlike  expression.  She 
walked  from  one  window  to  another,  but  she  could  see 
nothing  but  smoke,  and  the  train  went  unbearably 
slowly  she  thought.  Probably  for  the  twelfth  time  she 
picked  up  her  travelling  bag  and  laid  it  down  again. 


A  Poor  Girl.  43 

How  astonished  they  all  would  be  !  Moritz  expected 
her  at  ten  o'clock,  and  now  it  was  only  seven. 

Her  heart  beat  to  bursting  when  the  locomotive  gave 
a  long  shrill  whistle,  and  now  a  few  lights  rushed  past 
the  windows.  How  long  it  was  since  she  had  been 
here  !  For  the  last  year  and  a  half  it  had  never  been 
convenient  for  her  to  pass  her  holidays  at  the  castle — 
once  they  were  all  away,  then  the  children  had  the 
measles. 

Ah,  and  there  lay  the  railway  station  !  Elsa  raised 
the  window  and  leaned  far  out  into  the  cold,  damp 
autumn  air.  There  stood  the  fountain,  there  stood  the 
old  one-eyed  porter,  and  down  there,  across  the  fields, 
the  lights  of  the  little  city  shone  through  the  mist  and 
fog.  Ah,  how  delightful  it  is  to  come  home  again  ! 

"  Where  to,  Miss  ?  "  asked  the  porter. 

"  Oh,  let  it  stay  ;  it  will  be  sent  for  to-morrow  from 
the  castle,"  said  she  hastily,  "  I  have  come  sooner " 

"  Will  you  go  alone  ?  "  The  man  was  desperate  at 
thought  of  earning  nothing. 

Elsa  remembered  that  Aunt  Ratenow  had  always 
thought  it  unsuitable  for  ladies  alone.  "  You  may 
carry  my  bag,  but  quickly,  please."  And  she  hurried 
on  ahead,  along  the  well-known  sparsely  built-up  road, 
to  the  city  gate,  and  only  here  did  her  panting  com- 
panion overtake  her.  There  it  stood,  the  old  court- 
house ;  there  they  were,  the  tall  crooked  houses,  and 
the  lanterns  still  hung  on  chains  across  the  streets,  the 
knockers  still  rattled  on  the  house-doors,  and  the  shops 


44 


A  Poor  Girl. 


where  Moritz  had  sometimes  bought  her  candy  had  the 
same  darky  boy  figures  behind  their  windows,  as  a 
sign  that  genuine  tobacco  was  for  sale  here. 


At  length  she  stood  still  and  gazed  up  at  a  pair  of 
dimly-lighted   windows ;    involuntarily  she   turned   to 


A  Poor  Girl.  45 

the  door  to  hurry  to  papa.  But  Moritz  had  expressly 
written  that  he  and  Aunt  Ratenovv  wished  to  speak 
with  her  first — no,  she  must  be  obedient,  and  slowly 
she  turned. 

"  You  have  gone  far  out  of  your  way,  Miss,"  grum- 
bled her  companion.  "  You  surely  do  not  know  the 
right  direction." 

She  merely  nodded  with  a  smile  and  walked  on 
hastily  through  the  stone  gate  into  the  linden  alley. 
She  knew  every  one  of  the  gnarled  trunks,  which  rose 
like  black  forms  in  the  darkness ;  she  remembered 
the  lantern  down  there  and  the  barking  of  the  dogs 
in  the  castle  yard  which  she  now  heard.  She  stood 
at  the  turn  of  the  road.  There  it  lay  before  her,  the 
dear  old  house  ;  up  there  were  Aunt  Lett's  windows — 
they  were  bright — and  below  those  in  Aunt  Ratenow's 
room  ;  the  lights  burned  over  the  house  door,  and 
behind  the  kitchen  windows  figures  were  moving,  and 
the  large  carriage  was  being  brought  out  of  the  barn. 

"  You  can  go,"  she  whispered  to  the  man,  taking  the 
bag  and  pressing  some  money  into  his  hand.  She  ran 
across  the  yard,  rushed  up  the  steps,  and  now  stood  in 
the  vestibule. 

Where  should  she  go  first  ?  But  she  hesitated  for  a 
moment  only,  then  turned  to  the  stairs  and  mounted  to 
the  neat  little  room.  It  was  her  dearest,  best  home. 
"  Aunt  Lott  !  "  she  cried,  upon  the  threshold.  It  rang 
through  the  strange  old  lady's  quiet  room. 

"  Elsa !  my  darling  child  !  "  was  the  reply.     Yes,  she 


46  A  Poor  Girl. 

was  home  again.  Here  she  was  expected.  Ah,  it  is 
too  lovely  to  come  home,  to  come  home  from  among 
strangers  ! 

"  Merciful  patience  !  I  scarcely  recognized  you,  Elsa, 
only  your  eyes  are  the  same  !  "  cried  Aunt  Lott,  after 
she  had  released  the  girl  from  her  arms. 

"  Darling  auntie,  I  have  grown,  have  I  not  ?  But  I 
am  eighteen  years  old." 

"  Come,  come,  take  off  your  jacket,  so — and  here, 
do  you  see,  tea  is  just  ready.  To  be  sure,  eighteen 
years  old,  my  child  ?  I  have  told  you  in  the  poem  for 
your  birthday  what  that  means  for  us."  And  Aunt 
Lott  stood  with  the  teapot,  in  her  hand,  before  the 
smiling  rosy  girl,  and  declaimed  : 

"  Eighteen  years  old  !  spring's  magic  charm 

Is  thine  for  these  brief  days, 
Half  unclosing  fairest  rosebuds 
Kissed  by  the  sun's  warm  rays." 

"Oh,  auntie,  and  I  so  love  life  !  "  the  girl  interrupted 
the  old  lady.  "  When  I  sat  over  my  books,  and  my 
head  was  so  heavy  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  cram 
nothing  more  into  it,  then  I  thought  of  all  the  happi- 
ness which  must  come  to  every  one,  of  the  youth  which 
lay  before  me.  Sister  Beata  always  told  us  that  Heaven 
grants  a  share  of  happiness  to  each  one.  Ah,  aunt, 
how  I  look  forward  to  my  share !  I  could  scarcely  wait 
to  leave  the  school-room." 

Aunt  Lott  hastily  poured  tea  ;  she  was  suddenly  in  the 
midst  of  a  dream  of  spring  and  the  song  of  nightingales, 


A  Poor  Girl.  47 

she  also  had  once  been  young,  and  there  sat  the  em- 
bodiment of  spring  in  her  little  room.  How  pretty  Elsa 
had  grown  ;  the  young  face  gazing  out  into  life  was  fresh 
as  the  dew  ;  how  many,  many  hopes  were  hidden  behind 
the  smooth  white  forehead,  and  brightened  the  eyes  and 
made  glad  the  heart ! 

"  O  youth  !  "  whispered  the  old  lady. 

"  Eighteen  years  old  !     The  poorest  life 

Yet  has  its  pleasures  bright, 

Filling  the  future's  gloomy  vales 

With  golden,  glad  sunlight." 

And  there  she  sat,  now,  the  girl.  She  had  worked 
hard  for  years,  she  had  no  home,  no  loving  mother,  no 
prospects  for  the  future,  and  still  youth,  which  looks 
upon  it  as  its  right  to  be'  happy,  to  demand  happiness, 
raised  her  to  a  true  heaven,  and  how  long  would  it 
last  before  Aunt  Ratenow  would  come  with  her  garden 
shears,  and  in  her  horribly  realistic  manner,  cut  off  one 
bud  of  hope  after  another  ?  Aunt  Lott  turned  away  to 
set  the  tea-pot  on  the  stove,  so  that  she  could  become 
mistress  of  her  grief. 

"  But,  auntie,  how  are  you  all  here  ?  "  cried  Elsa, 
quickly  drinking  her  tea.  "  I  must  go  down-stairs  to 
Aunt  Ratenow,  Moritz,  and  Frieda." 

"  Yes,  that  you  must,  child,  yes,  yes,"  said  the  old 
woman.  "  To  be  sure  you  will  not  see  much  of  Frieda  ; 
they  are  having  a  rehearsal,  they  wish  to  play  some  piece 
for  Aunt  Ratenow's  birthday,  but  Moritz  will  probably 
have  a  few  minutes  to  spare." 


48  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Rehearsal !     Who  ? " 

"  Who  ?  Child,  the  officers  and  young  ladies  from 
the  city,  and  then  they  are  all  to  have  supper  here — 
day  before  yesterday  they  even  had  a  dance.  Mercy  ! 
Elsa,  I  hear  your  aunt's  step,  and  now  you  did  not  go 
to  see  her  first." 

"  No,  that  is  Moritz  !  "  cried  Elsa,  and  in  a  moment 
she  was  behind  the  stove,  and  drew  her  gown  tightly 
around  her  slender  form. 

Yes,  it  was  Moritz ;  he  merely  wished  to  ask  whether 
Aunt  Lott  would  drive  to  the  station  for  the  child. 
Frieda  again  had  the  whole  town  down-stairs  to  supper. 
With  these  words  he  sank  down  upon  the  nearest  chair, 
and  pushed  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead,  a  gesture 
which  was  frequent  with  him  when  he  wished  to  drive 
away  unpleasant  thoughts. 

Then  suddenly  two  trembling  little  hands  were  laid 
over  his  eyes.  "  Uncle  Moritz,  who  am  I?  "  asked  a  dear, 
well-known  voice,  and  a  clear,  merry  laugh  followed. 

"You  witch!"  he  cried,  and  held  her  fast.  And  now 
he  sprang  up.  "  Girl,  you  have  become  a  fine  creat- 
ure!" His  good  face  fairly  shone.  "The  food  in 

D cannot  be  very  poor,  in  truth,  and  you  do  not 

look  learned  either,  thank  God  !  " 

"  No,  Moritz,  I  have  no  tendency  that  way.  Imagine, 
the  Professor  assured  me  only  yesterday  that  such  was 
the  case,"  said  she,  meekly.  "  But  the  examination  went 
finely,"  she  added,  consolingly,  as  he  watched  her,  smil- 
ingly. 


A  Poor  Girl.  49 

He  still  stared  at  her.  "  Aunt  Lott,  I  am  growing 
old.  I  have  often  carried  that  tall  young  lady,  and 
now  ? " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Aunt  Lott.  "  When  I  saw  her  thus 
before  me  so  suddenly,  I  thought  of  Schiller's  words  : 

"'And  gracefully,  in  beauty's  pride,  like  to  some  heavenly 
image  fair.'" 

"  That  is  right,  Lott,"  a  voice  interrupted  her.  "  Put 
ideas  in  her  head  at  once."  Aunt  Ratenow  stood  in 
the  doorway  as  if  conjured  there  by  magic,  and  behind 
her  Frieda's  face  peeped  in,  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"We  wished  to  see  if  it  were  true,"  she  cried. 

"  Caroline  declared  that  she  heard  Elsa  talking  up 
here  ;  truly,  there  she  is." 

Elsa  had  just  emerged  from  Aunt  Ratenow's  double 
shawl,  which  the  old  lady  was  accustomed  to  wrap 
around  her  when  passing  through  the  cold  corridors. 
Now  she  was  kissed  warmly  by  the  younger  lady. 
"  Moritz,  she  comes  as  if  sent  for.  I  have  just  received 

a  note  from  Mrs.  von  D ;  she  cannot  take  part, 

there  has  been  a  death  in  the  family.  Now  we  are  pro- 
vided for." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  sharply. 

"  I  have  no  time,  dear  mamma.  I  must  go  down- 
stairs, and  you  must  not  ask  me  now,  either,"  cried 
Frieda.  "  Moritz,  bring  Elsa  down  afterwards."  And 
in  the  next  moment  the  dainty  young  woman  in  the 
heavy,  pale  blue  silk  gown  had  vanished  behind  the  door. 

"  Well,  child,"  Aunt  Ratenow  turned  to  the  young 
4 


50  A  Poor  Girl. 

girl,  "  we  have  decided  that,  for  the  present,  you  are  to 
remain  here." 

"  Oh,  how  gladly — if  papa  will  permit,"  was  the  frank 
reply,  "  but  then,  aunt ' 

"Yes,  he  permits"  the  old  lady  interrupted.  It 
sounded  strangely.  Aunt  Lott  and  Moritz  exchanged 
glances. 

"  And  so  that  you "  she  continued. 

"  We  will  speak  of  the  rest  to-morrow,"  Moritz  inter- 
rupted. "  Dear  mother,"  he  pleaded,  "  do  us  the  pleas- 
ure to  take  supper  with  us  this  evening.  Frieda  would 
be  very  happy." 

"  You  know,  Moritz,  that  I  cannot  bear  much  talk- 
ing," she  replied. 

"Dear  heaven,  it  would  be  much  pleasanter  could 
we  be  alone  together — but — ah,  pray  do ;  Aunt  Lott 
and  Elsa,  get  ready.  Mother  and  Aunt  Lott  can  excuse 
themselves  soon  after  supper.  Mother  will  really  be 
needed." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  shook  her  head. 

"  My  old  birthday  now  furnishes  an  excuse  for  your 
foolery,"  said  she  ;  "  come  and  fetch  me  when  the 
time  comes,  Moritz." 

"  Aunt  Lott,"  began  Elsa,  after  she  had  completed 
her  toilet,  and  was  fastening  a  pale  pink  sash  to  her 
plain  black  cashmere  gown,  which  was  so  becoming 
to  her  clear  complexion  and  blonde  hair,  "  things  are 
so  queer  here  ;  Aunt  Ratenow  was  out  of  temper,  and 
Moritz  ako." 


A  Poor  Girl.  51 

"  Yes,  but — I  do  not  know  why,"  was  the  evasive 
reply.  "  Are  you  ready  ?  It  is  high  time." 

Elsa  was  ready,  and  together  they  crossed  the  cor- 
ridor and  descended  the  stairs. 

"Oh,  Elsa,  my  handkerchief,"  cried  Aunt  Lott,  as 
they  were  about  to  enter  the  drawing-room.  She 
always  forgot  something. 

"Go  in,  auntie,  I  will  fetch  it,"  said  the  young  girl. 

She  came  down-stairs  again  after  a  few  minutes  and 
paused  irresolutely.  Not  far  from  her  she  perceived 
an  officer  ;  he  had  just  removed  hat  and  overcoat.  Now 
he  picked  up  a  violin-case  and  turned  to  enter  the 
hall  leading  to  Frieda's  rooms.  At  this  moment  he 
glanced  up,  and  the  two  young  people  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

Then  what  is  usual  when  a  lady  and  gentleman  meet 
occurred  :  he  made  a  deep  bow,  his  spurs  clicked, 
he  opened  the  door,  and  let  the  young  girl  pass 
ahead. 

The  hall  was  but  dimly  lighted,  but  in  crossing  it 
Elsa  had  time  to  admire  the  handsome  furniture  which 
had  been  recently  added  to  the  large  gloomy  room.  It 
had  become  the  exact  copy  of  an  old  German  state 
apartment,  with  its  dark  oaken  wainscoting,  the  magnifi- 
cent carved  oak  furniture,  the  costly  hangings,  which 
fell  in  artistic  folds  to  the  ground.  Here  and  there  the 
light  was  reflected  from  handsome  bronze  ornaments, 
and  the  palms  in  the  superb  vases  stirred  gently  as  her 
feet  trod  the  soft  carpet. 


A  Poor  Girl. 


Frieda's   drawing-room    was  brilliantly  lighted,  and 
gay  chat  and  laughter  rang  out  from  it.     When   the 


A  Poor  Girl.  53 

young  girl  appeared  in  the  doorway  the  conversation 
ceased  for  a  moment,  introductions  followed,  and  Elsa 
stood  in  the  midst  of  the  close,  perfumed  atmosphere  of 
the  drawing-room.  She  took  refuge  behind  Aunt  Lott, 
where  there  was  a  vacant  chair,  and  from  here  she 
surveyed  this  gay  scene,  so  wholly  unfamiliar  to  her 
large  childish  eyes.  How  they  chatted,  laughed  and 
joked,  discussed  the  news  of  the  day  and  of  the  little 
circle,  promotion,  and  a  bit  of  the  chronique  scandaleuse, 
interrupted  by  an  occasional  emphatic  remark  from 
Aunt  Ratenow.  There  was  an  assemblage  of  dazzling 
uniforms,  of  ladies'  handsome  though  simple  costumes  ; 
and  suddenly  it  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  "  Bernardi 
will  play  !  " 

The  officer  who  had  entered  with  Elsa  took  a  violin 
from  its  case,  and  spoke  eagerly  to  Frieda,  then  she 
seated  herself  at  the  piano,  turning  back  the  fine  lace 
at  her  wrists,  and  struck  a  few  chords,  while  death-like 
stillness  prevailed  in  the  room. 

"  Bernardi  is  to  play.  Elsa,  you  have  a  treat  in 
store,"  Aunt  Lott  whispered  to  the  girl  ;  "  he  plays 
wonderfully."  And  the  next  moment  from  beneath  the 
bow,  guided  over  the  strings  by  the  man's  slender  hand 
yonder,  a  tone  wonderfully  soft  and  sweet  vibrated 
through  the  room  ;  tone  succeeded  tone,  now  mourn- 
ful and  longing,  as  though  the  little  brown  violin  wept, 
now  in  brilliant  staccato,  in  wild  fiery  rhythm.  And 
then  he  lowered  his  bow. 

Elsa   started ;    she    felt   as   though    awakened   from 


54  A  Poor  Girl. 

a   dream.      Loud    applause    followed,    Aunt    Ratenow 
applauding  loudest  of  all. 

"  Dear  Bernardi,"  she  cried,  "  I,  indeed,  understand 
nothing  of  modern  music.  Your  father  moved  me  to 
tears  when  he  played  Beethoven's  '  Adelaide '  upon  the 
same  violin  ;  but  I  must,  nevertheless,  give  the  palm  to 
his  son."  And  she  held  out  her  right  hand  to  the  young 
man,  cordially,  who  took  it  with  a  deep  bow.  Then  he 
whispered  to  Frieda,  and  in  the  next  moment,  making  a 
second  bow  to  the  old  lady,  he  raised  his  bow  and 
Beethoven's  '  Adelaide '  echoed  through  the  room. 

' '  Plainly  gleameth  on  every  crimson  petal  Adelaide, 
Adelaide  ! '  "  Aunt  Lott  whispered  with  shining  eyes. 
"Oh,  what  a  pity,  over  so  soon  !  Oh,  dear  Lieutenant 
Bernardi,  how  beautiful  !  "  she  heard  Elsa  say  then, 
and  when  she  looked  up  he  stood  before  her  aunt,  but 
his  eyes  gazed  over  the  blonde  lace  cap  at  the  girl ;  they 
were  dark,  almost  mournful  eyes,  which  gave  a  peculiar 
look  to  the  face  with  its  regular  features  and  bold, 
dark  mustache.  His  comrades  declared  that  he  was 
descended  from  gypsies,  and  for  this  reason  he  could 
"  fiddle  "  so  brilliantly. 

"  Is  Miss  von  Hegebach  also  musical  ? "  he  now 
asked,  as  carelessly  as  possible,  and  drew  his  chair 
between  Elsa  and  Aunt  Lott. 

"  I  sing  a  little,"  she  replied,  and  with  that  conver- 
sation was  started.  Aunt  Lott  merely  went  through  the 
formality  of  interposing  an  occasional  word  ;  she  knew 
nothing  at  all  of  music,  but  was  secretly  astonished  at 


A  Poor  GirL  55 

this  little  Elsa's  knowledge,  she  talked  so  learnedly  of 
thorough-bass,  Chopin,  and  Wagner. 

She  sat  beside  him  at  table,  she  did  not  realize  how 
quickly  the  hours  flew.  She  saw  neither  Moritz's  smile 
nor  Aunt  Ratenow's  stern  glances.  "  One  can  take  the 
girls  of  the  present  day  from  the  nursery  and  seat  them 
at  table,  and  they  will  have  something  to  talk  about," 
said  the  old  lady  to  herself.  Then  she  rose  and  gave 
the  signal  for  leaving  the  table.  When  Elsa  kissed  her 
hand  and  wished  her  gesegnete  mahlzeit  she  held  the 
young  girl  fast  by  the  arm. 

"  You  will  take  me  to  my  room,  eh,  child  ? "  and 
without  awaiting  Frieda's  return — she  was  occupied  in 
the  adjoining  room — she  took  "  French  leave  "  and  left 
the  room  unnoticed  by  Moritz. 

"  So,  Elsa,"  said  she,  when  they  had  entered  her 
comfortable  room,  "  how  these  young  women  can  chat- 
ter. Your  tongue  was  not  exactly  tied.  Did  you  amuse 
yourself  ? " 

"  Oh,  aunt !  "    The  young  girl  became  crimson. 

"  The  best  was  Bernardi's  playing,"  said  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow,  without  noticing  the  blush.  "  Ring  for  the 
maid,  Elsa  ;  she  may  bring  me  fresh  water,  and  then 
you  may  go.  Go  to  bed,  child  ;  we  must  have  a  talk 
together  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Elsa,  where  are  you  ? "  cried  Frieda's  voice  outside. 

"  Oh,  well  ;  do  as  you  please,"  murmured  the  old 
lady.  And  when  Frieda  entered  the  room  the  next 
moment,  she  hastily  motioned  to  Elsa  to  go. 


56  A  Poor  Girl. 

"I  do  believe  that  mamma  wished  to  send  you  to 
bed,  like  a  little  child,"  said  the  young  wife,  outside. 
"  Come  quickly  ;  you  must  read  your  part  to-night ; 
afterwards  we  will  dance." 


J 


A  Poor  Girl.  57 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  Elsa  mounted  the 
stairs.  She  gazed  over  the  carved  bannisters  down  into 
the  hall,  where  the  guests  stood  wrapped  in  cloaks  and 
mantles,  ready  to  leave.  There  stood  Bernardi  among 
them  and  glanced  up  and  bowed.  "  Good-night,"  she 
cried,  like  a  happy  child.  Then  she  sat  on  Aunt 
Lett's  bed  for  a  long  time,  and  told  her  of  school,  of 
Sister  Beata,  and  everything  under  the  sun  ;  they  even 
spoke  of  the  dead  cat.  It  mattered  not  to  her  what 
she  talked  about,  for  as  to  sleep  that  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  for  this  night. 


V. 

THE  next  morning  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  the  roofs 
dripped,  the  eaves-troughs  gurgled  and  murmured,  and 
the  half-stripped  branches  of  the  trees  bent  and 
groaned  in  the  cold  autumn  wind.  This  chilly  mood 
seemed  to  affect  human  beings  also  ;  in  the  whole  house 
only  Aunt  Lott  and  her  little  adopted  daughter  seemed 
good-tempered.  "  Now,  auntie,  you  must  have  an  easy 
time,"  the  latter  had  said,  and  when  the  old  lady 
entered  her  room  she  found  all  her  little  tasks  finished, 
the  dust  removed,  the  flowers  watered,  the  wants  of  the 
little  canary  in  its  cage  attended  to,  and  Elsa,  in  her 
simple  gown,  sat  by  the  window  and  gazed  out  at  the 
rainy  landscape. 

"  I  do  so  like  this  weather,"  she  began,  as  they  were 
drinking  their  coffee,  "  for  then  it  is  so  nice  in  the 
house,  but  still  it  is  unfortunate  that  it  rains.  I  must 
go  to  papa.  Aunt  Lott,  my  conscience  pricks  me  for 
enjoying  myself  so  much  yesterday  evening,  instead  of 
being  with  him." 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  when  there  was  a  knock, 
and  Moritz  .entered.  He  wore  a  thick  frieze  overcoat 
and  high  boots. 


A  Poor  Girl.  59 

"Ah,  Moritz,  you  have  your  headache  face  on," 
cried  Elsa. 

"  I  came  to  ask  Elsa  if  she  will  go  to  the  city  with 
me.  I  have  business  at  the  city  hall,"  he  answered. 

She  was  ready  at  once,  and  went  for  her  cloak  and 
hat.  Moritz  looked  after  her. 

"She  has  grown  to  be  a  sweet,  pretty  girl,  Aunt  Lott," 
said  he,  as  the  door  closed  behind  her. 

The  old  lady  eagerly  nodded  assent.  "  But  how  are 
matters  down-stairs,  Moritz  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  one  looks  upon  it  !  Frieda  is  unhappy  ; 
she  has  received  news  of  the  death  of  her  father's 
brother.  She  never  knew  him,  she  says,  but  the  family 
will  of  course  wear  mourning,  especially  as  the  old 
gentleman  was  unmarried  and  leaves  his  whole  fortune 
to  my  father-in-law.  Frieda  wishes  to  go  to  the  city 
with  me  to  make  some  purchases." 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  Aunt  Lott,  "  and  the  theatricals  ?  " 

"  They  are  at  an  end,  thank  fortune,"  said  he,  smiling 
in  spite  of  his  headache.  "  Well,  well,  Elsa,  you  need 
not  hurry  so,"  he  remarked  to  the  young  girl,  as  she 
reappeared.  "  Frieda  is  not  nearly  ready,  but  you  can 
say  good-morning  to  mother,  meanwhile." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  sat  at  the  window,  sorting  a  huge 
pile  of  stockings,  while  she  drew  each  one  over  her 
hand,  gazing  sharply  at  it  through  her  spectacles. 

''It  is  sweet  and  dutiful  in  you,  Elsa,"  she  said  in 
the  course  of  conversation,  and  more  gently  than  she 
usually  spoke.  "But  see,  old  gentlemen  have  their 


60  A  Poor  Girl. 

peculiarities  ;  you  must  not  think  that  your  father  does 
not  love  you  because  he  says  that  he  is  willing  for  you 
to  stay  with  us.  It  may  seem  harsh  and  unkind  to  you 
and  others  also  ;  but  the  reasons  you  must  look  for  in 
his  hard  life,  in  the  seclusion  in  which  he  has  always 
insisted  upon  living,  wholly  without  pleasures.  Perhaps 
in  time  he  will  become  more  sociable." 

Who  would  have  recognized  by  these  words  the 
harsh,  decided  woman,  who  to-day  tried  to  hold  up 
the  father's  conduct  in  the  mildest  light  to  the  child  ? 
"  Greet  your  father  for  me,"  she  called  after  her,  as 
the  young  girl  turned  to  go. 

Frieda  was  evidently  in  the  worst  possible  humor. 
She  lay  back  in  the  carriage,  wrapped  closely  in  her  soft 
fur  cloak,  and  did  not  utter  a  word.  At  length  she 
took  out  a  dainty  little  purse  and  shook  out  the  con- 
tents into  her  fine  lawn  handkerchief. 

"  It  is  not  nearly  enough,  Moritz,"  said  she  then, 
playing  with  the  coins.  "  You  must  pay  Drewendt's 
bill  yourself.  I  will  have  it  made  out  to-day." 

Without  further  remark,  he  drew  out  his  pocket-book 
and  silently  handed  her  several  bank-notes.  She  took 
them,  put  them  into  her  purse  with  the  other  money, 
and  then  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"  Moritz,  may  I  buy  the  little  etagere  for  my  drawing- 
room  ?  "  she  asked,  gazing  pleadingly  at  him  with  her 
blue  eyes. 

He  turned  toward  her  vexedly,  but  his  irritated  ex- 
pression vanished  when  he  gazed  at  the  beautiful  face 


A  Poor  Girl.  61 

which  smiled  at  him  so  seductively  from  beneath  the 
black  fur  cap. 

"  How  fond  you  are  of  such  rubbish,"  he  said. 
"  As  you  like,  but  we  will  soon  be  forced  to  hold  an 
auction,  you  have  so  many  things,  eh?  But  how  much 
does  the  thing  cost  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  very  much  ;  a  hundred  marks,  perhaps, 
Moritz." 

He  was  silent,  and  Elsa  did  not  know  what  to  say, 
then  the  carriage  stopped  before  the  Major's  house,  and 
she  got  out.  She  crossed  the  bare  hall,  ascended  the 
slanting  stairs,  stood  irresolutely  at  the  door  of  her 
father's  room,  and  then  entered  the  little  kitchen. 

Old  Susan  had  just  placed  a  couple  of  wine-glasses 
on  a  tray,  and  her  trembling  hands  were  trying  to  un- 
cork a  bottle  of  Rhine  wine. 

"  Give  it  here,  Susan,"  said  the  girl  smiling  ;  "  I  am 
stronger  than  you." 

"  Merciful  heavens  !  "  cried  the  old  woman,  joyfully. 
"  Dear  Elsa  !  Miss  Elsa  !  And  you  have  grown  to  be 
such  a  big  girl  !  And  I  knew  it  would  be  so  !  We 
have  not  had  a  guest  for  ten  years,  and  to-day  they 
come  from  all  directions." 

Elsa  placed  the  bottle  of  Rhine  wine  on  the  tray. 
"  Call  me  Elsa,  as  you  used  to,  Susan  ;  but  who  is  with 
papa  ?  I  do  not  want  to  disturb  him." 

"You  must  guess,"  cried  the  old  woman,  smiling, 
and  tied  on  a  fresh  apron.  "  Now  you  are  curious, 
Elsa,  I  see  that,  just  as  your  mother  was  ;  well " — and 


62  A  Poor  Girl. 

she  came  close  up  to  the  girl — "  it  is  the  Bennewitzer  ! 
I  did  not  recognize  him  at  all,"  she  continued.  "  Here 
came  a  fine  gentleman  in  black  clothes,  and  asked  for 
the  Major,  his  cousin.  Had  I  told  your  papa  first,  he 
surely  would  not  have  received  him,  but  I  did  not,  but 
opened  the  door  at  once,  and  there  they  sat  together  in 
a  moment.  Well,  let  them  wrangle,  Elsa  dear,  I  think 
it  will  do  no  harm.  Do  you  know,  until  now  the  two 
have  fought  like  cat  and  dog  about  the  inheritance. 
And  now — but  will  you  not  carry  the  wine  in,  Elsa  ?  " 

"  Did  papa  call  for  wine  ?  "  asked  the  young  girl. 

"  Oh,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  replied  the  old 
woman,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  I  only  thought 
that  when  a  relative  came  to  call  one  should  treat  him 
properly." 

At  this  moment  the  Major's  voice  rang  out  so  loudly 
and  angrily  that  Susan,  who  was  about  to  hand  the 
girl  the  tray,  set  it  down  again  in  alarm. 

"  Oh,  heavens,  Elsa,  he  is  angry,"  she  stammered, 
and  in  fact  exclamations  of  a  man  excited  to  the  great- 
est fury  now  rang  in  the  ear  of  the  trembling  girl. 
The  next  moment  she  had  hurried  across  the  corridor, 
opened  a  door  and  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  room, 
deathly  pale,  but  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  self- 
possession. 

"  Papa,  I  trust  I  do  not  disturb  you  ? "  asked  she, 
advancing  toward  the  old  man,  who,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  a  letter  in  his  hand,  his  face  deeply 
flushed,  stared  at  her  as  at  an  apparition. 


A  Poor  Girl.  63 

The  stately  man  who  leaned  carelessly  against  the 
window  yonder  bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  his 
excited,  angry  cousin  ;  he  was  a  gentleman  in  appear- 
ance from  head  to  foot,  and  he  seemed  also  to  have 
preserved  perfectly  his  inner  calm;  his  face,  at  least, 
with  the  sad  expression  about  the  mouth,  was  com- 
pletely unmoved. 

"  You  do  not  disturb  us  at  all,  Miss  von  Hegebach," 
said  he,  with  a  bow,  "  in  fact  it  is  a  welcome  interrup- 
tion. I  was  just  trying  to  explain  a  misunderstanding 
on  your  father's  part,  and  this  was  made  difficult  for 
me  by  new  misunderstandings " 

"  Papa  !  "  the  lovely  young  girl  had  clasped  the  gray 
old  man  in  her  two  arms.  "  Dear  papa,  I  am  so  glad 
to  be  with  you  again,"  and  she  leaned  against  him  as 
though  she  would  protect  him  from  all  harm  in  this 
world. 

Major  von  Hegebach  had  apparently  wholly  lost 
his  presence  of  mind ;  with  one  hand  he  smoothed  his 
daughter's  hair,  and  with  the  other  pushed  her  away. 

"Afterwards,  afterwards,  my  child — I  am  occupied 
with — with  this  gentleman " 

"  Your  daughter  does  not  disturb  us  at  all,  cousin. 
I  think  we  had  better  sit  down  and  discuss  the  whole 
affair  calmly,  as  is  proper  for  men  in  the  presence  of  a 
lady,"  said  the  Bennewitzer,  and  drew  his  chair  up  to 
the  table  covered  with  cigar  boxes  and  newspapers. 
"  Pray,  William,"  he  then  continued,  placing  a  chair 
for  Elsa,  "  let  us  speak  calmly.  You  know  that  I  have 


64  A  Poor  Girl. 

come  here  in  no  unfriendly  mood,  and  you  also  know 
with  which  of  us  fate  has  dealt  most  hardly." 

Hegebach  had  seated  himself,  at  a  pleading  gesture 
from  Elsa.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the 
smoky  old  room. 

"We  two,  William,"  the  Bennewitzer  began  anew, 
"  cannot  help  it  that  our  uncle,  God  forgive  him,  made 
his  will  thus  and  not  otherwise  ;  we  must  think  no  more 
of  that.  Your  claims,  as  you  must  admit  to  yourself, 
and  as  your  lawyer  should  tell  you,  are  untenable.  I 
have  not  even  the  right  to  divide  the  estate  and  fortune 
which  I  have  inherited,  and  which  now  belong  to  me  ; 
but  I  have  the  right  to  make  you  the  proposition  which 
I  mentioned  before,  and  I  meant  honestly  and  kindly 
with  you.  Accept  this  proposition,  William,  if  not  for 
your  sake,  for  your  daughter's.'7 

"  I  will  not  accept  it,"  said  the  Major,  "  and  await 
further  results." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  be  prudent,  William,"  pleaded 
the  Bennewitzer,  glancing  at  the  young  girl. 

"  I  know  what  I  am  doing,  thank  you." 

With  trembling  hands,  the  old  man  took  a  package 
of  papers  and  laid  them  in  another  place,  opened  and 
shut  the  cover  of  his  cigar  case  with  nervous  haste. 
Elsa  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  perplexity. 

"  It  is  a  very  material  matter  in  question,  Miss  von 
Hegebach,"  the  Bennewitzer  turned  to  the  young  girl ; 
"  your  father  of  late  has  believed  that  since  stern  fate 
has  robbed  me  of  both  sons,  and  thus  of  the  heirs 


A  Poor  Girl.  65 

of  the  estate,  that  he  has  claims  upon  it.  I  do  not 
know  how  he  has  been  persuaded  to  bring  these  claims 
into  court ;  in  any  case  he  has  been  badly  advised. 
I  came  to-day  to  prevent  the  beginning  of  this  perfectly 
useless  lawsuit,  and  wished " 

"  To  put  a  plaster  on  my  mouth  !  "  the  Major  inter- 
rupted, violently.  "  I  thank  you  again  for  your  offer  of 
assistance  when  I  have  good  right  to  make  claims." 

The  Bennewitzer  rose.  "  I  meant  well,  William  ;  far 
be  it  from  me  to  urge  anything  upon  you ;  enforce  your 
claims." 

He  took  a  hat  with  a  wide  band  of  bombazine  from 
the  nearest  chair,  and  offered  his  hand  to  the  young 
girl.  "  I  should  be  very  happy  to  meet  my  charming 
cousin  under  pleasanter  circumstances.  God  bless  you, 
Miss  von  Hegebach  !  " 

The  next  moment  the  door  had  closed  behind  him. 

"  Papa  !  "  said  the  girl  sadly,  after  the  old  man,  as  if 
wholly  forgetful  of  her  presence,  had  rummaged  for 
some  time  in  the  pigeon-holes  of  his  desk,  among  letters 
and  papers.  "  Papa  !  " 

Hegebach  started  and  rubbed  his  forehead. 

"  Papa,  I  should  like  to  talk  with  you  for  a  little 
while." 

He  ceased  his  search  and  stared  at  her. 

"  Papa,  I  merely  wished  to  tell  you  that  I  should 

have  come  to  you  so  gladly,  and  kept  house  for  you, 

read  to  you  in  the  evenings  and  arranged  your  room 

neatly."      There   must   have   been    something   in   her 

5 


66  A  Poor  Girl. 

voice  which  compelled  him  to  listen  to  her.  He 
seated  himself,  and  rested  his  head  in  one  hand. 

"  And  I  should  have  been  so  glad  to  nurse  you  when 
you  are  ill,  papa,  and  you  would  no  longer  have  been  so 
lonely  for — aunt  Ratenow— "  The  clear,  girlish  voice 
suddenly  died  away  in  shyness  and  sadness.  "  Let 
me  stay  with  you,  papa,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  she 
cried,  throwing  her  arms  around  the  old  man's  neck. 
"You  are  always  so  lonely,  you  cannot  be  happy." 

"  No,  Elsa,  that  cannot  be,"  he  replied,  but  he  did 
not  shake  off  the  little  hand.  "  You  are  unfortunate, 
poor  child,  in  that  you  must  call  such  a  beggar  as  I  am 
father.  It  could  have  been  otherwise.  But  whom 
fate  has  once  placed  on  a  worn-out  horse,  will  never 
in  all  his  life  mount  a  respectable  one.  I  told  aunt 
Ratenow  how  much  I  have  to  live  upon,  twenty  dollars 
a  month  !  That  sounds  ridiculous,  does  it  not  ?  The 
rest  of  my  pension  goes  to  pay  old  debts  which  my 
honor  obliges  me  to  liquidate,  and  which  will  require 
years  before  they  are  paid." 

"  Papa  !  "  she  wished  to  interrupt,  but  he  took  the 
words  out  of  her  mouth. 

"  It  is  best  as  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  proposed  to  me 
yesterday  :  You  shall  undertake  the  education  of  the 
little  Ratenows,  and  receive  a  suitable  salary  for  that, 
and  besides,  be  like  a  child  of  the  house.  That  is 
more  fortunate  than  hundreds  of  others  in  your  posi- 
tion have,  and  for  the  rest — we  will  wait,"  he  con- 
cluded. 


A  Poor  Girl.  67 

The  young  girl  had  sprung  up,  and  stared  at  the 
speaker's  pale  face.  But  she  did  not  say  a  word.  She 
only  suddenly  realized  that  a  sweet,  golden,  careless 
girlhood  no  longer  awaited  her.  As  if  wrapped  in  gray 
shadow,  the  dear  old  house  suddenly  rose  before  her 
eyes.  She  no  longer  had  a  right  to  a  home,  she  must 
earn  it  by  service  rendered.  She  had  suddenly  been 
pushed  from  the  position  of  a  child  into  one  of  thank- 
fulness. Yes,  how  could  she  have  fancied  that  in  this 
world  love  and  kindness  would  be  given  without  expect- 
ing a  return  ?  They  had  educated  a  governess  for  them- 
selves, that  was  all. 

An  indescribably  bitter  feeling  filled  the  young  girl's 
heart  ;  it  was  not  dread  of  work,  it  was  the  pain  of  a 
great  disappointment. 

"  Good-by,  papa,"  said  she,  putting  on  her  hat, 
"  I  will  visit  you  as  often  as  " — she  paused — in  her  bitter- 
ness she  had  wished  to  say,  "  as  often  as  my  mistress 

"  but  then  she  thought  of  Moritz's  kind  face,  "  as 

often  as  I  am  permitted,"  she  corrected  herself. 

He  gave  her  his  hand.  "  Things  will  be  better,  Elsa, 
you  are  still  so  young." 

She  nodded,  "  Good-by,  papa,"  then  she  went. 
How  differently  she  had  come  !  She  stood  in  the 
door-way  with  a  gloomy  face.  The  elegant  carriage 
which  had  brought  her  just  then  turned  the  corner 
of  the  street.  Moritz  came  for  her.  She  must  wait 
for  him. 

"  How  you  look,  Elsa,"  he  said,  as  he  sprang  out  to 


68 


A  Poor  Girl. 


help  her  into  the  carriage.     "  Has  any  one  vexed  you, 
little  girl  ? "     And  he  took  her  hand. 


"  When  do  you  wish  me  to  begin  my  instruction  ?  " 
was  the  answer,  as  they  rolled  away  in  the  carriage. 
"  And  do  you  not  first  wish  to  examine  my  testimo- 
nials ? " 

He  looked  up.  Her  voice  sounded  so  strangely,  her 
lips  were  pressed  together  as  if  in  pain. 

"The  instruction?"  he  asked.  "  Oh,  yes  !  mother 
wished  to  ask  you,  I  believe,  to  give  the  children  a  little 
elementary  instruction.  Will  you,  Elsa  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  arranged,"  replied  she.  "  I  was  not  con- 
sulted." 

"  Has  anything  occurred  to  wound  you,  Elsa  ?  It 
was  the  intention  of  no  one,  believe  me,"  he  added 
gently,  watching  the  girl's  pale  face. 


A  Poor  Girl.  69 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  shining  with  tears. 
"  Moritz,  I  will  do  anything,  I  will  be  with  your  chil- 
dren night  and  day,  but  offer  me  no  money  for  it,  I 
cannot  bear  it  !  "  she  sobbed. 

"  Why  Elsa,  Elsa,  how  falsely  you  judge  it  !  "  he 
cried,  startled.  And  as  the  carriage  stopped  before  the 
house  door  at  this  moment,  he  said,  "  I  beg  you  to  go 
upstairs  to  Aunt  Lott,  Elsa;  I  will  only  see  mother  for 
a  moment  and  then  come  upstairs  at  once  and  speak 
with  you." 

Elsa  had  stood  in  her  room  and  gazed  out  at  the 
storm  and  rain  ;  she  no  longer  wept  ;  she  had  suddenly 
become  calm.  Yesterday  lay  far  behind  her,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  been  dreaming.  Why  had  she  for- 
gotten what  Aunt  Ratenow  had  told  her  when  she  was  a 
child,  "  You  must  learn  to  stand  on  your  own  feet. " 
But  who  thinks  of  the  needs  of  life  when  among  gay, 
young  companions,  when  existence  resembles  a  May 
morning  ? 

"  Elsa  !  "  called  a  voice.  She  turned.  Aunt  Ratenow 
stood  before  her. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Elsa,  that  you  have  such  a  false 
idea  of  what  was  meant  most  kindly.  I  cannot  bestow 
everything  upon  you.  I  must  repeat  to  you  that  your 
circumstances  are  not  such  as  to  enable  you  to  flit 
through  life  like  a  gay  butterfly  ;  you  must  be  an  in- 
dustrious bee.  If  you  instruct  our  children,  of  course 
you  will  receive  a  salary  for  it,  as  would  any  other — 
that  I  can  and  must  not  spare  you  ;  it  is  a  false  pride 


70  A  Poor  Girl. 

which  makes  you  hesitate  to  accept  it,  and  when  you 
consider  the  matter  you  will  see  this.  Life  is  long,  my 
child.  However,  I  will  not  force  the  hateful  money 
into  your  hands,  but  save  it  for  you,  so  that  you  will 
have  a  little  capital.  But  no  one  compels  you  to  un- 
dertake the  children's  instruction,  Elsa — do  you  hear  ? 
You  are  a  guest  in  my  house  and  can  remain  one  as 
long  as  you  choose  ;  the  decision  rests  with  you,  Elsa." 

"  I  accept  the  offer  and  will  undertake  the  instruc- 
tion," said  the  girl  softly. 

"  That  is  right,  Elsa.  For  the  rest  everything  shall 
be  as  of  old.  How  is  your  father  ? " 

"  He  was  excited  ;  he  had  a  dispute  with  the  Benne- 
witzer,  whom  I  found  there." 

"  The  Bennewitzer  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  so 
loudly  that  the  girl  looked  at  her  in  alarm.  "  And  you 
mention  that  so  casually.  Did  he  see  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt." 

"  And  what  did  he  want  ?  " 

Elsa  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  had  felt  that  her 
father  was  about  to  yield  to  a  false  idea. 

"  It  was  about  Bennewitz,"  said  she.  "  Father,  I 
believe,  wishes  to  compel  a  portion  to  be  given  him  by 
the  courts." 

"  Is  he  mad  ? "  cried  the  old  lady,  crimson  with 
anger,  and  then  remembering  that  the  man's  daughter 
stood  before  her,  she  added,  "  You  do  not  understand, 
Elsa,  and  I  do  not  mean  unkindly.  I  must  speak  to 
your  father  ;  he  will  stir  up  a  fine  commotion.  What 


A  Poor  Girl.  71 

does  he  look  like,  the  Bennewitzer,  Elsa  ?  "  And  she 
patted  the  girl's  face.  "We  will  be  very  comforta- 
ble here  this  winter,"  she  added,  without  awaiting  an 
answer. 

"Aunt  Lott,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  sad  smile,  as  later 
she  entered  her  cosey  room, "  if  I  shall  ever  again  forget 
it,  pray  remind  me." 

"  Of  what,  my  little  rosebud  ? " 

"That  I  am  a  poor  girl." 


VI. 

BUT  yet  she  could  not  always  think  of  it.  Elsa  had 
wandered  through  the  garden  the  next  morning,  and 
every  tree  had  nodded  to  her :  "  Do  you  remember 
me  ? "  Every  spot  where  as  a  child  she  had  played, 
had  whispered  sweet,  confidential  words  to  her  young, 
pained  heart ;  the  sun  had  shone  so  brightly  and 
warmly  over  the  stately  old  house,  and  in  all  the 
country  round  she  knew  every  roof,  every  wind-mill, 
every  hill.  No  ;  she  was  at  home,  therefore  she  was 
not  poor. 

How  could  she  be  sad  in  the  midst  of  such  gayety, 
happiness  and  coseyness  ?  It  was  so  pleasant  in  the 
comfortable  dining-room  at  the  well-spread  table,  so 
pleasant  when  Aunt  Ratenow  told  stories  of  the  past ; 
it  was  like  a  sunbeam  when  Mrs.  Frieda  laughed  and 
the  children  joined  in  so  clearly,  while  Moritz  sat  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  carving  the  roast  and  providing 
for  every  one. 

"  Elsa,  are  you  really  no  longer  hungry  ?  Pray  eat 
more,  little  girl ;  see  this  appetizing  bit  of  lamb,  eh  ? 
That  is  right,  taste  it."  And  after  dinner  he  took  the 


A  Poor  Girl.  73 

little  boy  on  his  back,  and  then  there  was  a  wild  romp 
out  in  the  garden,  up  and  down  the  paths,  all  together. 
What  laughter  and  noise  there  was,  until  Frieda  de- 
clared, "  Pray  stop,  Moritz,  we  cannot  catch  you  !  " 

And  then  the  walks  out  into  the  country  those  lovely 
autumn  days,  with  Frieda  and  Aunt  Ratenow.  Some- 
times the  young  lady's  elegant  coupe  rolled  through 
the  streets  of  the  little  city,  and  the  shop-keepers 
rushed  out  to  open  the  carriage-door  and  assist  the 
ladies  to  alight.-  And  in  the  evening  there  were  always 
guests  ;  and  then  John  knocked  at  Aunt  Lett's  door  to 
ask  if  Miss  von  Hegebach  would  not  come  down  to  the 
young  mistress.  And  how  quickly  the  little  hands 
could  arrange  the  wavy  hair  and  fasten  on  the  pink 
sash,  especially  when  the  old  man  added,  "  They  are 
to  have  some  music." 

Who  would  have  thought  that  the  hated  piano  and 
singing  lessons  could  have  such  happy  results  ?  And 
who  would  have  thought  that  anything  in  this  world 
could  sing  and  mourn  like  that  little  brown  violin  which 
Lieutenant  Bernardi  held  in  his  arms  ? 

The  beginning  of  Elsa's  activity  had  been  post- 
poned. She  did  not  know  that  Moritz  had  privately 
told  his  wife,  "  Listen,  Frieda  dear,  you  absolutely  do 
not  wish  the  children  to  be  bothered  with  lessons  before 
the  beginning  of  January  ?  "  And  when  Elsa  asked  the 
young  mother  to  fix  a  time  for  the  beginning  of  lessons 
she  had  replied  very  calmly,  "  We  have  plenty  of  time 
to  decide  that  ;  I  cannot  think  of  shutting  up  the  chil- 


74  A  Poor  Girl. 

dren  before  the  middle  of  January.  Besides,  Moritz 
must  first  fit  up  a  school-room  with  comfortable  seats  ; 
the  eldest  child  is  growing  so  fast  and  beyond  her 
strength,  and  besides — the  children  could  do  nothing 
before  Christmas." 

It  was  useless  for  Aunt  Ratenow  to  talk,  for  Frieda's 
wishes,  as  their  mother,  must  be  respected,  and  besides 
it  was  far  too  pleasant  for  young  Mrs.  von  Ratenow 
to  have  a  companion  during  the  quiet  time  of  morning 
for  her  to  listen  to  "sensible  advice."-  And  Moritz? 
Oh,  he  was  henpecked,  as  the  old  lady  told  Aunt 
Lott  confidentially,  within  her  own  four  walls. 

Elsa  had  met  her  former  school-mate,  Miss  Annie 
Cramm,  in  Frieda's  charming  drawing-room  with  its 
blue  hangings.  She  had  returned  to  her  father's  house 
immediately  after  her  confirmation,  and  had  been  out  in 
society  for  two  years.  Her  thin  face  was  as  pale  and 
immature  as  ever,  her  blue  eyes  as  light,  and  her  hair 
even  more  straw-colored,  but  it  was  arranged  with  the 
utmost  care,  and  the  handsome  gowns  fitted  the  young 
lady's  somewhat  angular  figure  faultlessly. 

"She  is  a  goose,"  said  Frieda  very  frankly. 

"But  with  golden  feathers,  dear  child,"  added  Aunt 
Ratenow  ;  "  that  excuses  much." 

Elsa  chatted  with  Annie  Cramm  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent of  boarding-school  days ;  the  young  lady  even 
sometimes  came  to  see  Aunt  Lott.  She  could  sigh 
deeply  and  look  very  mournful,  and  she  kept  a  journal 
in  which  she  conscientiously  recorded  every  ball  and 


A  Poor  Girl.  75 

the  name  of  every  one  with  whom  she  danced  a  qua- 
drille or  cotillon.  As  she  possessed  a  thin  soprano 
voice,  she  was  often  present  at  Frieda's  musical  even- 
ings. She  preferred  to  sing  alone,  and  always  appeared 
in  the  most  faultless  costumes,  although  not  always 
adapted  to  the  situation  and  person,  thus  not  seldom 
exciting  the  young  hostess's  mockery,  the  latter  being 
morbidly  sensitive  to  all  that  was  not  chic. 

Elsa's  black  cashmere  gown  was  condemned  once  for 
all,  in  her  opinion,  as  "frightfully  respectable."  But 
what  could  Frieda  do  ?  At  first  she  had  intended 
replenishing  the  girl's  more  than  simple  wardrobe  from 
her  own  store,  but  this  had  been  energetically  opposed 
by  her  husband,  usually  so  bidable. 

"  If  Elsa  needs  anything,"  he  declared,  "  mother  will 
attend  to  it  for  her  as  she  has  always  done  before. 
Besides,  what  could  she  do  with  your  cast-off  wardrobe  ? 
She  is  a  head  taller  than  you.  I  positively  will  not 
consent  that  she  shall  wear  your  old  clothes,  Frieda  ! 
Why  stamp  her  with  poverty  in  the  sight  of  every 
one  ? " 

And  so  the  slender  blonde  girl  always  appeared  in 
her  simple  black  gown,  which  doubly  increased  her 
peculiar  loveliness. 

Things  had  now  gone  so  far  that  twice  in  the  week, 
on  certain  days,  lights  were  placed  on  the  piano,  and 
there  was  music  from  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  until 
midnight. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  but  blow  on  a  comb,"  declared 


76  A  Poor  Girl. 

Moritz  one  afternoon  when  Elsa  met  him  coming  down- 
stairs with  a  pile  of  music  under  his  arm,  "  and  if 
necessity  demands  whistle  lHeil  dir  in  Siegeskranz ! ' 
I  appear  at  supper  punctually,  and  if  afterwards  a  few 
songs  are  sung  I  enjoy  listening.  But  I  know  nothing 
of  your  symphonies.  Good-by,  Elsa ;  and  keep  a 
couple  of  songs  for  me." 

And  as  he  had  nothing  to  do  outside,  he  went  up  to 
his  mother's  room,  lit  a  cigar,  and  seated  himself  com- 
fortably in  his  late  father's  arm-chair.  Mother  and  son 
were  never  at  a  loss  for  conversation  ;  the  household 
and  estate  would  in  themselves  furnish  topics,  and  they 
always  discussed  everything  together.  The  practical 
old  lady  was  ever  ready  with  good  advice,  and  so  they 
were  very  soon  engaged  in  an  agricultural  discussion. 
Then  they  came  to  city  news,  and  finally  Moritz  told 
her  that  he  had  spoken  with  the  Bennewitzer  a  few 
days  before  in  Magdeburg,  and  the  latter  had  told  him 
that  his  cousin  had  really  brought  suit  against  him. 

"  The  fool  will  have  to  wound  his  head  before  he 
realizes  that  there  are  walls,"  said  Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 
"  I  have  lamed  my  tongue  talking,  and  half  paralyzed 
my  hand  writing,  but  he  clings  to  his  fancied  '  good 
rights  '  with  a  firmness  worthy  of  a  better  cause." 

She  was  silent,  but  the  knitting-needles  clicked  more 
energetically  than  ever.  Nothing  made  the  old  lady 
more  irritable  than  when  any  one  refused  to  be  taught 
by  her. 

"  Say,  my  boy,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "  is  it  really  only 


A  Poor  Girl.  77 

the  desire  for  music  which  brings  the  black  Lieutenant 
here  so  often  with  his  violin  ? " 

"  Probably,"  replied  Moritz.  "  They  do  nothing  else 
but  make  music,  and  forget  to  eat  and  drink." 

"  But  do  you  know,  Moritz  ?  I  place  no  dependence 
upon  you,  in  such  things  you  are  a  child.  I  must  in- 
vestigate for  myself." 

"  Oh,  mother,  Aunt  Lott  sits  there — knits  and  is 
delighted " 

"  Yes,  she  is  the  right  one,"  nodded  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now,  still  between  jest  and  earnest,  "a  good  soul,  but 
in  spite  of  her  age  she  would  be  the  first  one  to  fall  in 
love  with  Bernardi." 

Moritz  laughed  loudly. 

"  It  is  really  no  laughing  matter,  my  boy  ;  you  also 
fell  deeply  in  love  once,  do  you  know  ?  And  others 
have  eyes  in  their  heads  and  fresh  young  blood  in  their 
veins,"  and  with  these  words  she  took  off  her  neat  tulle 
cap,  and  smoothing  her  shining  and  still  brown  hair, 
she  added,  "  Give  me  the  cap  with  the  lilac  ribbons, 
from  my  top  drawer,  Moritz.  So,  that  is  it ;  I  thank 
you,  and  now  we  too  will  revel  in  music  for  once." 

The  large  man  had  closed  the  drawer  again,  and 
brushed  some  ashes  from  his  dark-blue  clothes.  "  Well, 
mother  dear,  if  you  mean  Elsa " 

"  I  mean  nothing  at  all,  Moritz.  Will  you  come  with 
me  ?  " 

"  Willingly,  so  that  you  may  see  that  no  love  potions 
are  being  brewed,  you  all  too  anxious  little  mother." 


78  A  Poor  Girl. 

Down  in  the  drawing-room  the  chandeliers  and  lamps 
were  already  lighted  ;  they  had  just  finished  a  Kreutzer 
concerto,  and  were  animatedly  discussing  it  when 
mother  and  son  entered.  Frieda  sat  at  the  piano  prac- 
ticing a  difficult  passage,  Lieutenant  Bernardi  had  put 
down  his  violin  and  stood  beside  Elsa,  who  was  looking 
over  some  music.  Annie  Cramm  and  Aunt  Lott  sat  near 
the  window,  their  cheeks  flushed  deeply  with  interest. 

"  We  should  like  to  hear  a  few  songs,"  said  Moritz, 
in  excuse  of  their  sudden  appearance,  and  with  a 
sonorous  "Good  evening,  ladies,  good  evening,  dear 
Bernardi,"  Aunt  Ratenow  seated  herself  in  the  corner 
beside  Aunt  Lott.  Moritz  smiled  to  himself;  she  was 
no  diplomat,  his  magnificent  old  mother,  she  always 
went  straight  to  the  point.  It  amused  him  greatly  to 
watch  her. 

Miss  Annie  Cramm  was  urged  to  sing.  Elsa  sat 
quietly  in  the  deep  window  recess,  and  her  sweet, 
childish  face  peeped  out  from  behind  the  heavy  blue 
curtains  which  formed  a  fine  background  for  the  blonde 
head.  Bernardi  had  gone  to  the  opposite  end  of  the 
room  ;  he  leaned  against  Frieda's  book-case  directly 
opposite  Elsa. 

"  A  very  handsome  fellow,"  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  ad- 
mitted to  herself,  "  so  slender  and  aristocratic-looking, 
and  with  the  best  of  manners  ;  no  wonder  if " 

Then  Annie  Cramm's  high  voice  began,  a  voice  which 
had  such  an  alarming  effect  upon  the  high-shouldered, 
thin  figure  of  the  singer. 


A  Poor  Girl.  79 

"Very  beautiful,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  old 
lady  in  praise,  "  but  I  do  not  understand  it,  it  is  too 
high-flown  for  me." 

"  Mamma  dear,  what  a  crime  !  It  was  by  Wagner," 
cried  Frieda. 

"  I  do  not  know  him,"  was  the  response,  given  with 
unshaken  calm. 

"  Yes,  you  see  that  is  because  you  will  never  go  to 
the  opera  with  us,  mamma,  when  we  are  in  Berlin," 
complained  the  younger  lady. 

"  Child,  I  am  really  somewhat  proud  of  my  nerves, 
but  I  always  tell  myself  the  present  music  is  beyond 
me.  I  tremble  in  all  my  limbs  after  the  first  act,  and 
have  but  one  thought — will  they  never  stop  ? — You 
who  are  always  talking  about  your  nerves  can  yet  en- 
dure such  things  for  hours.  Elsa,  will  you  not  sing  us 
a  simple  song  ?  " 

The  young  girl  went  to  the  piano  with  crimson 
cheeks. 

"  We  can  try  the  old  song  with  the  new  setting,"  pro- 
posed Frieda  ;  she  secretly  was  in  a  quiver  of  horror  at 
her  mother-in-law's  views,  and  there  were  several  dis- 
cords in  the  first  few  bars  of  the  introduction.  But 
now  a  sweet  full  alto  voice  began  : 

"  Ah,  who  in  this  world  is  like  me  left  to  pine? 
No  father,  no  mother,  no  fortune  is  mine. 
And  nothing  else  have  I  to  claim  or  to  keep, 
Save  only  two  brown  eyes  with  which  I  may  weep. 


8o 


A  Poor  Girl. 


"  Far  over  the  fields  howls  the  wild  autumn  wind. 
My  lover  was  faithless  to  me  and  unkind, 
Because  on  my  bosom  no  jewels  bright  shone. 
Ah,  has  ever  such  longing  as  mine  yet  been  known  ? 

"  Down  there  flows  the  river,  so  black  and  so  deep. 
Ah.  could  I  but  lie  there  forever  asleep  ! 
Three  flowers,  three  rosebuds,  a  shroud  white  as  snow  ; 
There  would  I  rest  sweetly,  nor  know  pain  or  woe." 


"  Bravo,  Elsa  !  "  said  the  old  lady,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  the  girl.  The  others  were  silent.  Bernardi 
raised  his  violin  and  began  to  play  the  simple  mournful 
melody,  and  then  a  wild  strain,  a  chaos  of  tones  through 


A  Poor  Girl.  81 

which  the  melody  could  be  heard,  and  finally  the  grief- 
stricken  cry  of  the  last  stanza. 

The  two  young  people  gazed  at  each  other  while  he 
played,  then  the  girl's  moist  brown  eyes  were  lowered, 
and  the  flush  on  her  cheeks  gave  place  to  pallor. 
Silently  she  seated  herself  near  Aunt  Lott.  Bernardi 
had  put  down  the  violin  and  received  warm  praise; 
only  Aunt  Ratenow  was  silent. 

"  It  is  an  old  song, "said  she  at  length,  "  with  an  ever 
new  melody.  Do  you  not  say  so,  Frieda  ?  Elsa  !  "  she 
then  cried,  as  they  went  to  the  dining-room,  and  the 
young  girl  was  about  to  take  the  chair  next  the  officer's, 
"  Elsa  dear,  let  Moritz  or  Aunt  Lott  sit  there,  and  help 
me  a  little  here  ;  I  have  gout  in  my  arm  again." 

Elsa  was  ready  at  once,  but  Moritz  stared  at  his 
mother,  this  feminine  strategy  fairly  terrified  him.  And 
all  so  unnecessary,  as  he  thought.  There  he  sat,  the 
dangerous  man,  and  chatted  on  common-place  topics 
with  his  pale  neighbor,  peeled  an  orange  for  Frieda, 
and  told  regimental  stories.  Conversation  was  carried 
on  briskly  around  the  table  ;  finally  Moritz  began  to 
talk  of  old  regimental  days,  and  the  men  became  quite 
excited. 

It  was  late  when  they  rose  from  table  ;  the  carriage 
had  long  been  waiting  for  Annie  Cramm,  outside  in  the 
wind  and  rain.  Now  she  wrapped  herself  in  her  velvet 
cloak  and  took  leave  in  the  hall. 

"  Lieutenant,  may  I  offer  you  a  seat  in  my  carriage  ?  " 
she  asked. 
6 


82  A  Poor  Girl. 

He  stood  beside  Elsa,  his  cap  under  his  arm,  talking 
to  her.  The  large  room  was  but  dimly  lighted  ;  still 
Annie  saw  that  he  drew  the  girl's  slender,  half-resisting 
hand  to  his  lips. 

"  Will  you  drive  with  me,  Lieutenant  ? "  she  asked 
again  impatiently  ;  "  it  is  already  very  late,  and  I  am  in 
a  hurry." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Cramm,  but  I  prefer  to  walk,  the 
exercise  will  do  me  good,"  he  replied,  with  his  court- 
liest bow. 

Annie  Cramm  drew  the  veil  over  her  pale  face  and 
forgot  to  bid  Elsa  Hegebach  good-by  ;  Moritz  escorted 
her  to  her  carriage,  and  then  shook  the  hand  of  the 
young  officer  who  was  just  descending  the  steps.  He 
stood  there  for  a  while  gazing  after  Bernardi,  looked  up 
at  the  sky,  and  finally  his  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  two 
windows  of  the  upper  story,  behind  which  a  light  was 
just  then  visible. 

He  began  to  whistle  a  few  bars  from  "  Boccaccio" 
and  went  into  the  house.  "  Frieda,"  he  said  to  his 
beautiful  little  wife,  who  was  closing  the  piano  in  the 
drawing-room,  "  is  there  anything  in  the  air  ?  " 

"  Now  you  have  made  another  discovery,  Moritz," 
she  replied,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  Bernardi  and " 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  she  is  too  coarse,"  she  interrupted 
him. 

"No,  no  !     I  mean  Elsa." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  was  the  instant  reply,  "  if  that  is 


A  Poor  Girl.  83 

all  you  know — that  is  simply  impossible — he  does  not 
think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  But  if  she,  Elsa— 

"  Well,  if  she  does  !  I  had  two  lovers  before  you, 
Moritz,  and  I  am  still  alive." 

He  did  not  hear  the  last,  the  words  had  suddenly 
occurred  to  him  which  the  girl  had  sung  earlier  in  the 
evening  : 

"  Far  over  the  fields  howls  the  wild  autumn  wind. 
My  lover  was  faithless  to  me  and  unkind." 

"It  would  be  a  shame,"  said  he,  and  drew  his  hand 
over  his  eyes. 

But  upstairs  a  girl  sat  on  the  deepest  window  seat, 
and  held  her  hands  clasped  over  her  beating  heart.  She 
was  not  poor,  she  was  so  rich  that  she  would  not  have 
changed  with  any  one  in  the  world.  How  was  it  pos- 
sible that  life  could  be  so  beautiful  ?  Was  it  possible 
that  any  one  could  love  her,  love  her  as  his  eyes  plainly 
said  ?  And  she  sat  there  for  a  long  while,  staring  at  the 
lights  of  the  city,  until  one  after  the  other  was  extin- 
guished. Aunt  Lett's  calm  breathing  could  be  heard  in 
the  next  room,  she  slept  so  sweetly  and  soundly,  and 
forgot  to  rise  and  say  to  her  who  had  forgotten  it  all 
this  time,  "  Child,  what  are  you  dreaming  of  ?  You  are 
only  a  poor  girl!" 


VII. 

IT  was  winter.  At  Christmas  the  snow  had  lain 
white  and  shining  over  the  quiet  country  and  the  roofs 
of  the  houses.  It  had  snowed  until  New  Year's  day. 
The  streets  and  roads  were  as  hard  and  smooth  as  the 
best  parquet,  and  Moritz  had  had  the  horses  rough 
shod,  for  there  was  to  be  a  sleigh-ride,  a  large  sleighing 
party. 

Young  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  in  a  dark-blue  velvet 
costume  edged  with  fur,  was  just  drawing  on  her  gloves 
before  the  large  mirror  in  her  bedroom.  Moritz  de- 
clared that  she  looked  sweet  enough  to  kiss,  and  he 
would  have  looked  forward  to  the  whole  affair  if  only 
this  unfortunate  Bernardi  were  not  to  drive  Elsa. 

The  young  wife  shrugged  her  dainty  shoulders 
scarcely  perceptibly.  "  This  eternal  anxiety  about 
Elsa  !  Mamma  speaks  of  nothing  else,  and  so  do  you. 
Is  she  then  anything  so  very  much  better  than  other 
girls  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  Moritz  warmly.  "  She  has  a  warm, 
loving  heart,  and  when  she  feels  anything  she  does  so 
deeply  and  with  all  her  heart.  Superficial  trifling  or 
even  coquetry  is  wholly  foreign  to  the  little  girl." 


A  Poor  Girl.  85 

"  You  seem  to  have  studied  this  girlish  heart  very 
accurately,"  was  the  apparently  calm  reply  ;  but  Moritz 
knew  the  accent  of  this  complaisant  tone  only  too  well 
not  to  be  sure  that  the  speaker  was  very  irritated. 

"  Frieda,  I  beg  you — I  have  known  her  ever  since  she 
was  born,  as  I  know  our  children  !  "  His  honest  eyes 
gazed  fairly  in  alarm  at  her  face  which  was  so  blooming 
beneath  the  feathers  of  her  hat.  But  she  calmly  fast- 
ened the  last  button  of  her  long  gloves,  and  picked  up 
her  coquettish  little  muff.  "  I  believe  the  gentlemen 
are  already  in  the  drawing-room."  Then  she  floated 
past  him  without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
man's  hand  which  was  held  out  to  her  conciliatingly. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  young  wife  had 
spoken  thus;  in  her  opinion  the  way  people  troubled 
themselves  about  this  girl  was  horrible,  for  she  really  had 
quite  an  easy  time  in  the  world.  Who  would  lift  a  hand 
for  her  were  she  at  home  with  her  surly  old  father  ?  And 
mamma  Ratenow  was  always  emphasizing  the  remark 
that  she  wished  to  prevent  a  misfortune,  and  Moritz,  as 
faithful  echo,  joined  in.  That  became  tiresome  after  a 
while.  What  did  it  matter  if  an  officer  did  pay  atten- 
tions to  her  ?  She  amused  herself,  one  could  not  grudge 
her  that,  there  was  really  no  danger,  for — he  was  far 
too  prudent,  Bernardi,  and  Elsa  !  absurd  ! 

Her  cheeks  still  wore  the  flush  of  displeasure  as  she 
entered  the  drawing-room  and  greeted  Captain  von 
Franken  and  Lieutenant  Bernardi,  the  two  gentlemen 
who  were  to  have  the  honor  of  driving  the  ladies. 


86  A  Poor  Girl. 

The  Captain,  a  slender,  handsome  man  and  great 
admirer  of  young  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  jestingly  sank  on 
one  knee,  and  handed  his  lady  a  bouquet  of  pale  yellow 
roses. 

Elsa  held  a  bouquet  of  violets  ;  her  face  was  radiant. 

"  Oh,  Frieda,  see  !  Snow  and  ice  and  these  lovely  flow- 
ers ;  it  is  like  a  dream  !  " 

Like  a  dream,  like  a  sweet  dream  was  life.  The  sun 
shone  so  brightly  upon  the  sunny  landscape,  the  air  was 
so  clear  and  cold,  so  delightfully  pure,  the  sleigh-bells 
rang,  and  the  line  of  sleighs  flew  over  the  road  ;  how 
beautiful  the  world  is  when  the  heart  is  full  of  happi- 
ness !  The  young  girl's  face  had  but  once  saddened, 
that  was  when  she  passed  the  house  where  her  father 
lived.  She  looked  up  ;  he  stood  at  the  window,  in 
dressing-gown  and  cap,  but  he  did  not  return  the  girl's 
eager  nod  and  greeting. 

Papa  was  always  so  absorbed  in  thought.  Decid- 
edly, at  times  papa  did  not  know  that  he  possessed  a 
daughter. 

But  then  the  band  began  to  play,  and  they  talked — of 
nothing  at  all  and  yet  so  much.  "  My  Christian  name 
is  Bernard,"  he  had  told  her,  and  carefully  drawn  the 
warm  lap-robe  over  her. 

"  Bernard  Bernardi,  that  sounds  very  pretty,"  said 
Elsa. 

"  Your  cousin  is  a  true  Providence  to  us,"  he  went 
on.  "  Only  fancy,  where  are  we  to  dance  this  evening 
but  in  the  hall  at  the  castle  ?  Really  charming  people !  " 


A  Poor  Girl.  87 

"  Where  is  Annie  Cramm  ?  Who  is  driving  her  ? " 
asked  Elsa. 

He  laughed  so  that  his  white  teeth  shone  under  his 
black  moustache. 

"  Ensign  Hubart  was  ordered  to  that  post." 
"  Oh,  how  horrible  !     Annie  is  so  good." 
"  Good  ?     Is  that  all  ?    That  is  very  little." 
"  That  is  a  great  deal,  sir,"  said  the  young  girl,  her 
brown,  childish  eyes  gazing  at  him  very  seriously. 

He  must  look  at  her  continually  ;  he  knew  every 
feature  of  this  pure,  fresh  face,  and  it  was  delightful  to 
drive  beside  this  lovely  girl  who  was  so  different  from 
the  others,  so — so — he  did  not  know  the  right  word 
himself — so  true-hearted,  so  lovable,  so  truly  womanly. 
And  while  he  gazed  fixedly  at  her  he  thought  of  his 
home,  his  mother  ;  and  then  he  suddenly  stood  in  the 
old-fashioned  sitting-room,  and  beside  him — stood  Elsa. 
"  There  drive  hunger  and  thirst  together,"  remarked 
the  fat  Referendar  Golling  to  Lieutenant  von  Rost, 
and  puffed  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  out  into  the  cold, 
wintry  air  comfortably.  They  were  in  the  sleigh 
behind  Elsa  and  Bernardi ;  neither  had  a  lady  with 
him,  probably  they  did  not  desire  one.  Lieutenant 
von  Rost  here  took  the  part  of  lady ;  he  had  tied  a 
handkerchief  around  his  arm  and  managed  a  huge 
crimson  fan  with  great  skill. 

"  Ah,  well !  a  sleighing  party  is  quite  endurable  ;  the 
good  sideboards  in  the  castle  are  a  consoling  back- 
ground," yawned  the  Lieutenant. 


88 


A  Poor  Girl. 


"  Good  heavens,  the  man  will  never  be  so  mad  as  to 
have  serious  intentions  ?  "  asked  the  Referendar. 


"  Oh,  what  do  I 
know  about  it  ?  " 
the  officer  yawned 
again  ;  "  it  is  his  af- 
fair. He  knows  as 
well  as  the  rest  of 
us  that  the  old  lady 
has  nothing  to 
leave." 

"  He  makes  it  a 
trifle  hard,  dear 
Rost,  and  —  be- 
sides he  is  a 
good  -  hearted 
fellow." 

"  Yes ;  who  is 
not?     But  this  is  where 

his  good-heartedness  ends,"  declared  the  Lieutenant, 
and  dropped  the  eye-glass  with  which  he  had  been 
watching  the  pair  ahead  of  him. 

Moritz  was  in  the  last  sleigh  with  a  pretty  young 


A  Poor  Girl.  89 

woman.  He  was  irritable,  and  continually  looking  for 
Frieda  and  Elsa. 

"  Miss  von  Hegebach  is  quite  far  ahead,  Mr.  von 
Ratenow,  Bernardi  is  driving  her.  He  is  at  your  house 
a  great  deal,  is  he  not  ?  His  sister  is  a  friend  of  mine  ; 
the  father  was  a  physician  here  formerly.  He  has  quite  a 

large  practice  now  in  B ,  I  believe,  but  nothing  more. 

The  large  family — you  know,  Mr.  von  Ratenow " 

"  I  know  his  family  affairs  quite  well,"  replied  Moritz, 
crossly.  He  understood  very  well  what  hint  was  in- 
tended to  be  conveyed  to  him. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  Pardon  me,  dear  Mr.  von  Ratenow," 
said  the  young  woman,  and  stared  at  him.  Well,  then, 
they  of  the  castle  knew  that  he  was  not  at  all  a  good 
match. 

Meanwhile  the  castle  was  a  perfect  pandemonium,  as 
old  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  angrily  told  Aunt  Lott.  The 
table  was  set  in  the  dining-room,  and  the  gardener 
dragged  half  the  contents  of  the  conservatory  into  the 
hall  where  they  were  to  dance.  Frieda  had  left  off 
mourning  on  January  ist  punctually  ;  to-day  she  gave 
her  first  large  entertainment,  and  that  an  impromptu 
one.  She  had  come  home  from  a  party  the  night 
before  with  this  idea,  and  had  set  all  hands  and  feet  in 
the  house  in  motion  early  this  morning. 

"  Only  leave  me  in  peace,"  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  told 
her  daughter-in-law ;  "  send  me  the  children  so  that 
they  will  not  be  in  your  way,  that  is  all  that  I  will  have 
to  do  with  the  affair." 


90  A  Poor  Girl. 

In  Frieda's  dressing-room  the  elegant,  pale-blue  silk 
gown  lay  ready  for  the  evening,  with  every  article 
needed  for  her  toilet. 

Upstairs  in  Elsa's  room  two  old  hands  had  laid 
out  the  simple  white  batiste  gown  which  had  been  a 
Christmas  present  to  the  young  girl ;  and  the  two  little 
gilt  slippers,  small  as  those  of  a  child,  stood  on  the 
table  before  the  old  lady.  Here  and  there  she  had 
fastened  a  knot  of  ribbon  with  true  delight,  for  it  was 
no  trifle  to  dress  her  child  for  the  first  time  for  a  dance. 
She  had  then  donned  her  gray  silk,  had  lighted  the 
lamps,  and  chosen  a  romance  by  Hacklander.  Now 
she  waited  for  Elsa  to  assist  her  that  she  might  make  a 
quick  toilet. 

Gradually  it  grew  quieter  down-stairs  ;  the  prepara- 
tions were  completed,  it  was  the  quiet  before  the 
storm.  And  now  the  sleigh-bells  were  heard  outside ; 
there  they  were,  Moritz,  Frieda,  Elsa,  and  all  the  rest. 

In  a  few  moments  the  light  steps  of  the  young  girl 
came  down  the  corridor,  the  door  was  opened,  and  she 
stood  on  the  threshold,  flushed  and  out  of  breath. 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear  little  auntie!  "  she  cried,  and 
threw  both  arms  around  the  old  lady's  neck.  A  breath 
of  fresh,  cold,  snowy  air  entered  the  room  with  her. 

"  Was  it  nice,  Mouse  ?  Did  you  enjoy  yourself  ? 
Come,  drink  your  tea." 

But  the  young  girl  hastily  declined,  quickly  ran  into 
her  bedroom,  and  there  she  stood  in  the  darkness  for  a 
long  time,  forgetting  to  remove  coat  and  hat. 


A  Poor  Girl.  91 

Aunt  Lott  came  to  help  her. 

"  But  Elsa,  there  you  stand,  and  it  is  high  time  to 
change  your  dress."  She  fetched  a  light  and  took  the 
child's  wraps  off.  "Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Elsa? 
You  surely  are  not  crying  ?  " 

The  girl  was  silent  and  began  to  change  her  dress, 
but  to-day  she  did  not  seem  able  to  arrange  her  hair  ; 
the  trembling  hands  three  times  tried  to  fasten  the 
heavy  braids,  and  the  rose  would  not  be  adjusted. 

"  That  is  good,  that  is  very  pretty,"  said  Aunt  Lott. 
"You  usually  are  not  so  vain." 

Yes,  usually,  Aunt  Lott.  She  had  no  suspicion  for 
whom  the  child  adorned  herself. 

At  length  she  was  ready. 

"Aunt  Lott,  I  feel  so  strangely  to-day."  She  really 
trembled  nervously. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  child  ?  Have  you  taken 
cold  on  the  drive  ?" 

"  No,  no.     Come,  aunt." 

"  Will  you  not  take  a  few  drops  of  cologne,  Elsa  ? " 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  stood  motionless,  and  her 
eyes  stared  into  space  with  a  strangely  radiant  expres- 
sion. She  thought  she  heard  her  name  again,  "  Elsa," 
and  then  a  few  simple  words :  "  Happiness  !  What  is 
happiness  if  not  this  moment  ?  " 

His  voice  shook  so  strangely  as  he  said  that.  He 
had  spoken  to  her  of  his  parents  on  the  homeward 
drive,  how  sweet  and  lovely  his  mother  was,  how  she 
loved  to  hear  him  play  on  his  violin.  His  father  had 


92  A  Poor  Girl. 

once  played  that  instrument;  he  remembered  very  well 
how  he,  when  a  little  boy,  had  sat  in  the  twilight,  on  his 
mother's  lap  listening  intently  while  his  father  walked 
up  and  down  the  room  playing.  Sometimes  he  would 
let  his  bow  fall  and  come  over  to  kiss  mother  and 
child.  Oh,  yes,  the  little  violin  had  witnessed  much 
happiness,  that  was  why  it  sang  so  sweetly.  Ah,  happi- 
ness !  What  is  happiness  if  not  this  moment  ? 

And  their  hands  suddenly  clasped  each  other,  and 
Elsa  shed  tears,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy,  for  the 
young  heart  rejoiced,  and  above  them  the  starry  heaven 
arched  itself. 

"  Elsa,  come,  I  beg  you  !  "  pleaded  Aunt  Lott.  "  I 
think  we  are  the  last." 

She  followed  the  gray  silk  train  as  though  in  a  dream  ; 
she  dreaded  seeing  him  in  the  bright  light,  and  yet  her 
heart  beat  rapidly. 

There  was  a  hum  of  voices  in  the  brilliantly-lighted 
hall  and  the  adjoining  dancing-room,  card-tables  were 
arranged  in  Moritz's  room,  and  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  held 
some  cards  in  her  hand.  She  was  talking  to  an  old 
gentleman  when  Elsa  approached  her  to  kiss  her  hand. 
The  old  lady  stared  at  her  in  surprise  for  a  moment, 
the  girl  was  so  beautiful  this  evening;  she  patted  her 
cheek  almost  shyly  and  followed  her  with  her  eyes  as 
she  threaded  her  way  through  the  gay  crowd,  her  head 
slightly  bowed,  and  yet  so  proud,  the  beautiful  figure  in 
the  plain  white  gown,  through  which  her  neck  and  arms 
shone  rosily.  She  paused  beside  Annie  Cramm.  This 


A  Poor  Girl.  93 

young  lady  looked  very  cross  and  snappish  under  her 
wreath  of  white  lilies  ;  in  her  lilac  gown,  with  its  over- 
abundant garniture  of  lace  and  flowers,  she  resembled 
a  wax-figure  exhibiting  a  new  costume  in  the  show 
window  of  a  dressmaking  establishment.  Everything 
about  her  toilet  was  so  elegant,  from  the  pale  lilac  satin 
shoes  to  the  expensive  point-lace  fan  and  the  diamond 
butterfly  which  shone  so  dazzlingly  and  pretentiously 
on  the  young  lady's  bony  neck. 

"  What  a  caricature  the  present  fashion  is,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  von  Ratenow.  "  I  am  surprised  that  Annie 
Cramm  can  dance,  she  is  so  tightly  laced,  and  how  she 
looks  !  " 

The  first  notes  of  the  waltz  rang  through  the  room ; 
as  if  electrified  the  couples  began  to  dance;  it  was  a 
beautiful  picture  in  the  handsome  frame. 

"  Where  is  Elsa,  Lott  ?  I  do  not  see  her,"  asked  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow. 

"  There,  there  !  "  cried  the  old  lady.  "  Ratenow,  the 
child  does  not  dance,  she  flies !  "  she  cried,  in  an  ec- 
stasy, and  took  her  lorgnon  to  follow  her  darling  with 
rapturous  eyes. 

"  She  still  finds  pleasure  in  it,  my  dear  madam," 
remarked  an  old  man  with  gold  spectacles.  "Good 
heavens,  eighteen  years  old  !  " 

"  Tell  me,  my  dear  Councillor,"  asked  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow,  "  are  you  not  the  Bennewitzer  Hegebach's 
adviser  ? " 

"  I  have  that  honor,  madam." 


94  A  Poor  Girl. 

"Well " 

"Well,  the  Major's  suit  was  defeated,  naturally." 

"Of  course,"  nodded  Mrs.  von  Ratenow.  "  Does  he 
know  it  yet  ?  " 

"  He  will  have  learned  of  it  to-day,  madam.  I  too 
am  curious  as  to  the  effect  it  will  have  upon  him." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  suddenly  looked  anxiously  in  the 
speaker's  face.  "  Do  you  believe  that  he  will  learn  a 
lesson  from  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  indeed,"  replied  he.  "As  long  as  the  old 
hot  head  has  breath,  he  will  quarrel." 

The  dance  was  at  an  end,  the  guests  withdrew  to  the 
adjoining  room,  to  the  charming  little  nooks  among  the 
shrubbery,  or  to  the  conservatory.  Bernardi  had  led 
Elsa  to  Frieda's  little  boudoir;  the  girl  was  looking  for 
the  mistress  of  this  apartment,  in  order  that  she  might 
offer  some  assistance  in  her  duties  as  hostess.  No  one 
was  there  but  the  two  little  girls,  who,  in  their  very 
short  white  frocks,  were  seated  on  a  lounge,  absorbed  in 
one  of  mamma's  beautiful  books.  Frieda's  large  dog 
sat  beside  them  with  a  knowing  air. 

Elsa  seated  herself  in  a  low  arm-chair  near  the  chil- 
dren and  began  to  talk  to  them.  The  eldest  laid  the 
book  on  her  knee.  It  was  a  charming  picture,  and  she 
felt  that  his  eyes  rested  upon  her  in  admiration.  She 
looked  up  and  their  eyes  met,  until,  blushing  deeply, 
she  lowered  her  lashes  again. 

"  Now  we  will  soon  begin  to  study,"  said  the  young 
girl,  stroking  the  eldest  girl's  hair. 


A  Poor  Girl.  95 

"  I  can  read  now,  Aunt  Elsa,  listen  !  "  And,  pointing 
out  the  letters  with  her  little  finger,  the  child  read  what 
was  printed  beneath  the  picture  : 

"  Love  conquers  all  things. 
You  lie  !  said  the  penny." 

Elsa  looked  at  the  picture  ;  it  was  an  illustration  of 
"Old  German  wit  and  wisdom."  A  bridal  procession 
ascended  the  steps  of  a  church,  the  young  nobleman 
led  the  magnificently  dressed  bride,  a  whole  crowd  of 
stately  relatives  followed.  Aside  from  them  stood  a 
poorly  clad  girl,  with  no  ornaments  save  two  long  blonde 
braids.  She  had  turned  her  back  to  the  procession, 
buried  her  face  in  her  apron  and  wept.  Bernardi 
looked  over  Elsa's  shoulder  at  the  page. 

The  little  girl  asked  whether  the  picture  pleased  him. 
He  did  not  answer. 

"  Bernardi,  oh — a  word,"  suddenly  said  Lieutenant 
von  Rost's  voice,  close  behind  him.  He  left  the  room 
with  his  comrade. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Rost  ? "  he  asked  in  the  next 
room. 

"Bernardi,"  said  the  officer,  removing  his  eye-glass, 
"  you  and  I  have  always  been  frank  with  each  other.  I 
am  frank  with  you  now.  Get  leave  for  a  while  or  have 
yourself  transferred,  or  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  marry 
Annie  Cramm " 

Bernardi  grew  white  to  the  lips.  "You  must  be 
plainer,  Rost." 

"  Plainer  ?     Very   well ;   you  have   debts,  mon    ami, 


96 


A  Poor  Girl. 


although  no  enormous  ones ;  you  have  neither  a  wealthy 
uncle  nor  aunt,  and  your  father  possesses  all  possible 
virtues  but  no  earthly  goods.  Still  plainer  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  You  certainly  seem  slow  of  comprehension,  or  else  you 
would  long  ago  have  guessed  from  Ratenow's  highly 
constrained  manner  to  you,  the  general  opinion  which 


prevails  in  this  hospitable  house  concerning  your  behav- 
ior. I  do  not,  to  be  sure,  know  how  far  you  have 
gone,  and  whether  you  still  can  withdraw  ;  in  case  this 
is  no  longer  possible,  you  maybe  sure  of  my  sympathy." 
Without  another  word,  he  left  his  comrade  and  re- 
turned to  Elsa,  who  was  still  listening  to  the  children's 


A  Poor  Girl.  97 

chat.  The  book  she  had  laid  on  a  table,  and  was  again 
absorbed  in  her  happy  thoughts. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  this  dance,  Miss  von  Hege- 
bach,"  said  the  young  officer,  and  with  a  jesting  remark 
he  led  her  back  to  the  hall. 

Bernardi  was  in  the  most  painful  frame  of  mind  ;  he 
forced  his  way  through  the  next  rooms  with  a  gloomy 
face,  and  remained  standing  in  the  door  of  the  hall, 
beside  Moritz.  In  fact  the  man,  usually  so  affable,  was 
remarkably  cool  to  him.  Then  it  had  gone  so  far  that 
the  very  sparrows  chatted  of  it  on  the  roofs.  Stroking 
his  moustache,  he  went  over  the  whole  list  of  his  rela- 
tives. Rost  was  right,  he  had  not  a  single  wealthy  uncle 
or  aunt  from  whom  he  might  hope  to  inherit. 

"  Oho,  Colonel  !  "  he  heard  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  say 
suddenly,  close  behind  him,  "  that  is  a  matter  of  opin- 
ion." It  was  spoken  so  loudly  and  sternly. 

He  turned  and  looked  into  the  adjoining  room.  The 
old  lady  in  her  heavy  silk  gown  sat  opposite  the  regi- 
mental commander  at  the  nearest  whist  table ;  they  were 
playing  cards,  and  her  face  wore  the  severe  expression 
which  was  peculiar  to  it  when  she  prepared  to  defend 
one  of  her  opinions. 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  opinion,"  she  repeated.  "  It  is 
not  my  view.  I  have  seen  too  much  misery  from  this 
so-called  sense  of  honor.  I  will  give  you  an  example  at 
once." 

She  had  finished  her  hand  of  cards,  and  laid  her 
folded  hands  upon  the  table.  It  suddenly  seemed  to 
7 


98  A  Poor  Girl. 

Bernard!  that  she  now  spoke  so  loudly  because  she  had 
just  discovered  him  at  the  door.  Involuntarily  he 
listened. 

"  She  was  my  friend,  Colonel ;  you  surely  know  Major 
von  Welsleben  and  his  wife  ?  Well,  they  met  and  fell 
in  love  with  each  other  when  they  were  mere  children. 
At  that  age  one  does  not  consider  the  prose  of  life,  you 
were  about  to  say,  Colonel  ?  Very  well,  then  some  one 
should  tell  the  young  people  that  it  is  their  bounden 
duty  to  awake  from  their  moonlight  idyll  of  '  love  in  a 
cottage,'  should  look  about  in  real  life,  and  recognize 
that  one  does  not  live  on  love  and  the  perfume  of  roses. 

"Well,  they  were  betrothed;  it  was  an  endless  engage- 
ment, he  an  irritable  man,  she  a  nervous  girl,  until  the 
clergyman  at  length  consecrated  their  unhappy  marriage. 
Now  listen  to  what  is  coming,  Colonel.  You  declared 
that  his  sense  of  honor  would  have  forced  him  to 
engage  himself  to  the  girl  since  he  had  so  openly  showed 
her  that  he  loved  her !  A  false  sense  of  honor,  sir ! 
My  old  butler,  who  has  lived  in  my  house  for  thirty-two 
years — he  is  not  one  of  the  cleverest  of  men — one  even- 
ing said  to  me,  as  he  was  setting  the  table,  '  Mrs.  von 
Hegebach,  this  table-cloth  absolutely  cannot  be  used ;  if 
I  draw  it  over  this  end  it  does  not  cover  the  other,  if  I 
cover  that  end  the  table  shows  at  this  end.  I  have  tor- 
mented myself  for  a  good  hour  with  the  thing.'  Thus  it 
was  with  the  Welslebens,  their  whole  life  they  spent  in 
drawing  the  table-cloth  here  and  there,  but  it  never  was 
large  enough.  Children  came,  money  grew  more  and 


A  Poor  Girl.  99 

more  scarce,  bills  poured  in  upon  them  from  every 
direction,  joy  had  long  since  been  unknown  in  the 
house,  and  when  the  bell  rang,  the  wife  started  anxiously 
because  she  thought  it  must  again  be  one  of  those 
often  presented,  and  alas,  never  paid  bills.  The  wife 
worried  herself  thin  and  sickly,  and  he  went  oftener 
than  was  good  for  him  to  the  tavern.  Now,  I  ask  you, 
sir,  where " 

Bernardi  did  not  hear  the  rest.  Suddenly  he  went 
up  to  Frieda  and  begged  for  an  extra  dance.  She 
declined.  "  My  dear  Bernardi,  take  pity  on  Miss 
Cramm."  He  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

Elsa's  brown  eyes  sought  some  one.  Lieutenant 
Rost  knew  very  well  whom.  He  was  very  sorry  for 
the  girl,  as  sorry  as  he  could  be  for  any  one.  He  would 
gladly  have  settled  a  few  thousand  dollars  upon  Ber- 
nardi, so  that  these  little  feet  might  trip  beside  him 
through  life.  "  On  my  honor,  she  is  charming  !  " 

Meanwhile,  Bernardi  had  paced  up  and  down  the 
broad  garden  path  in  stormy  haste.  "  If  you  still  can 
withdraw  " — the  words  rang  in  his  ears.  He  grew  dizzy. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  murder  the  man  who 
had  spoken  these  words.  But  they  were  all  right,  and 
that  was  the  devilish  part  of  it  !  Could  he  withdraw 
now  without  a  scandal?  He  had  exchanged  no  definite 
words  with  her — in  an  hour  perhaps  he  would  have. 
And  yet  she  must  have  read  in  his  eyes  a  thousand 
times,  as  he  had  in  her  clear  brown,  childish  eyes,  that 
they  loved  each  other  dearly. 


loo  A  Poor  Girl. 

But  what  foolishness  !  The  old  lady's  description 
was  so  hopelessly  horrible,  so  fearfully  true ;  a  miserable 
prospect !  He  pushed  the  hair  back  from  his  fore- 
head ;  a  melody  suddenly  came  to  his  mind,  simple 
words  : 

"  Far  over  the  fields  howls  the  wild  autumn  wind. 
My  lover  was  faithless  to  me  and  unkind." 

And  again  he  saw  the  picture  which  he  had  seen  shortly 
before,  and  the  weeping  girl  took  the  form  of  Elsa  von 
Hegebach. 

No,  he  could  not,  he  would  not  withdraw;  he  could 
not  live  if  Elsa  von  Hegebach  were  to  look  upon  him 
as  a  despicable,  faithless  man.  He  had  held  her  hand 
in  his  for  one  rapturous  moment,  and  love  was  too 
holy,  .woman  too  sacred  to  him.  There  must  be  an  out- 
let from  his  difficulty,  at  worst  he  could  resign.  Sud- 
denly he  returned  with  great  strides  to  the  house,  and 
through  the  drawing-room  to  the  card-room. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,"  said  he  with  a  deep 
bow,  ''may  I  ask  you  for  a  short  interview?"  He  spoke 
softly,  and  gazed  calmly  at  the  intelligent  face  which 
was  turned  to  him  in  astonishment. 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  she  put  down 
the  cards.  "  Go  to  my  sitting-room.  I  will  follow 
you,"  she  replied  as  softly.  It  was  well  that  the  others 
were  talking  so  loudly,  and  that  just  then  the  music 
began  again. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  looked  after  him  as  he  disappeared 


A  Poor  Girl.  101 

behind  the  portieres.  "Here  we  have  it,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  My  dear  Councillor,  will  you  take  my  hand 
for  fifteen  minutes  or  so  ?  Thank  you."  And  passing 
through  the  ball-room,  she  followed  the  young  officer 
to  her  room.  It  was  lighted  by  but  a  single  lamp,  and 
from  the  twilight  a  grave,  pale  face  met  her  gaze. 

"  Well,  dear  Bernardi  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Ratenow,  a  short  time  ago  you 
pronounced  a  severe  sentence  upon — that — "  he  hesi- 
tated. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  she.  "  You  surely 
do  not  wish  to  force  me  to  retract  my  remark  ? "  It 
sounded  jokingly,  but  her  eyes  were  grave,  almost  stern. 

"  Do  you  not  think  an  exception  possible  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  !  "  she  replied  shortly,  and  seated  herself  in  the 
nearest  chair. 

"  Not  even  when  a  firm,  honest  purpose  is  united  to 
a  heart  full  of  true  love  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  deep  emotion  ;  the  old  lady  looked 
up  at  him — almost  compassionately. 

"  Good  heavens  !  They  all  think  that ;  they  all 
believe  that,  but  it  is  the  vain  delusion  of  a  lover, 
Bernardi." 

"I  would  resign,  dear  madam.  It  is  true  that  our 
rank  demands  great  outward  show  ;  the  lot  of  a  poor 
officer  is  most  miserable.  I  would  never  offer  it  to 
Elsa  von  Hegebach — I " 

"  Elsa  von  Hegebach  ? "  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  rose 
and  approached  the  young  man  in  her  rustling  silk 


102  A  Poor  Girl. 

gown.  "  If  you  mean  Elsa  von  Hegebach,  I  tell  you 
she  is  a  poor  girl,  and  would  never  allow  a  man  to  give 
up  his  career  for  her  sake  only  to  lead  a  discontented, 
empty  life  with  her.  She  is  far  too  sensible  for  that, 
sir  ;  and  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  you  are  honorable 
enough  not  to  make  such  a  proposition  to  a  child  who 
does  not  yet  know  what  it  means  to  bind  herself  forever. 
Up  to  this  time  she  has  never  known  the  needs  of  life." 

She  had  spoken  loudly  and  violently,  and  now  con- 
tinued, "  Do  you  think  that  when  you  have  left  off  the 
gay  coat  you  can  live  like  a  day-laborer  ?  The  world 
of  to-day  ruins  one  for  that  from  his  very  youth.  Go, 
Bernardi,  I  should  never  have  thought  you  so  foolish." 

"  I  love  Miss  von  Hegebach,"  he  replied,  and  gazed 
firmly  into  her  excited  face. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  have  plunged  in  over  your  ears  ! 
I  saw  it  coming,  unfortunately." 

"  And  I  am  loved  in  return." 

"  Ah  !  "  The  old  lady  tossed  back  her  cap-strings 
impatiently.  "  What  does  such  a  child  know  of  love  ? 
Do  not  talk  to  me  of  that,  Bernardi ;  at  that  age  one  has 
no  judgment,  and  even  if " 

"  And  even  if — "  he  repeated  ;  "  dear  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now,  and  even  if ?  " 

"  Well,  she  will  forget  you,  Bernardi ! — Oh,  no,  no," 
she  continued,  "  do  not  be  foolish  !  I  believe  that  you 
are  in  love  with  the  girl,  she  is  a  pretty  little  thing,  but 
— you  will  not  die  of  it.  I  must  beg  you  in  all  serious- 
ness, my  dear  Lieutenant  Bernardi,  to  look  upon  this 


A  Poor  Girl.  103 

conversation  as  ended.  It  is  an  impossibility,  and 
neither  your  parents  nor  Elsa's  father,  neither  I  nor  my 
son  could  be  pleased.  I  cannot  speak  prettily  to  you 
of  great  honor  and  so  on  ;  you  know  I  consider  you  a 
charming  man,  Bernardi,  and  a  man  of  honor;  do  not 
make  the  child  unhappy  !  I  mean  well  with  you  and 
with  her." 

"  I  am  breaking  no  promise  to  Miss  von  Hegebach  ; 
far  be  it  from  me  to  make  her  unhappy.  Accept  my 
thanks,  madam." 

He  bowed  formally  and  turned  toward  the  door. 

"  Wait,  Bernardi,  I  cannot  let  you  go  thus  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow ;  and  her  diamonds  sparkled  like 
coals  of  fire  as  she  turned  quickly.  "  First  promise 
that  you  will  see  the  child  no  more." 

"  I  will  leave  the  city  as  soon  as  possible,  madam." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Bernardi." 

And  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  she  stood  for 
some  time  on  the  same  spot,  her  head  bowed.  Then 
she  drew  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  as  though  to 
banish  an  unpleasant  thought. 

"  Pardon,  gentlemen,"  she  said,  a  few  minutes  later, 
in  the  card-room,  "  I  am  again  at  your  disposal.  Eh, 
are  we  winners,  Councillor  ?  " 

And  evening  deepened  into  night,  they  had  danced 
together  once  more.  He  had  been  very  gay,  Lieutenant 
Bernardi,  thought  the  young  ladies  ;  the  gentlemen  de- 
clared that  he  had  taken  more  champagne  than  was 
necessary.  He  had  pocketed  a  bow  of  ribbon  which 


J04  A  Poor  Girl. 

floated  to  his  feet  as  Elsa  danced  past ;  he  had  pressed 
the  girl's  trembling  hand  once  more,  and  then  he  had 
left  with  his  courtliest  bow,  without  once  looking  into 
the  moist  longing  eyes,  and  outside  on  the  street  he  had 
taken  Lieutenant  von  Rost's  arm. 

"  Why,  you  are  not  going  home  already  ? "  he  de- 
clared coldly.  And  then  all  the  bachelors  had  repaired 
to  their  club. 

"  Hey,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  Dolling  asked  Lieuten- 
ant von  Rost,  and  pointed  to  Bernardi,  who  was  talking 
loudly  to  an  older  comrade,  as  though  to  drown  an 
inner  voice. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Von  Rost,  "  he  is  at  the  crisis,  he  will 
get  over  it  soon." 

"  Ah,  auntie,  do  not  go  to  sleep  yet,"  begged  Elsa. 
She  had  put  on  a  wrapper,  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
old  lady's  bed. 

"My  darling,  open  your  heart  to  me,"  said  the 
sentimental  old  lady  with  the  childlike  nature. 

"  I  love  him  so  dearly  !  "  whispered  the  fresh  girlish 
lips.  Then  she  said  nothing  more,  the  two  only  silently 
pressed  each  other's  hands. 


VIII. 

THE  day  after  such  an  entertainment  is  the  same  in 
every  house  :  the  ladies  look  tired  out,  the  gentlemen 
have  headaches,  the  rooms  are  still  disordered,  the  ser- 
vants sleepy — but  worst  of  all  is  breakfast. 

It  was  almost  twelve  o'clock  when  the  household 
assembled  in  the  dining-room  for  this  meal.  Mrs. 
Ratenow  was  sternly  critical,  and  evidently  not  in  the 
best  temper.  Frieda  yawned  frequently,  and  Aunt 
Lott  revelled  in  recollections  of  the  preceding  evening, 
and  once  more  described  each  toilet  accurately. 

"Where  is  Elsa  ?"  Moritz  asked  at  length.  He  had 
sat  there  silently,  eating  and  drinking  up  to  this  time. 

"  She  is  coming  immediately,"  said  Aunt  Lott.  "  She 
was  not  quite  ready ;  she  wishes  to  go  to  her  father,  he 
is  not  well." 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  old  Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 

"  Did  not  the  child  look  charming,  cousin  ? "  asked 
Aunt  Lott. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  cool  reply.  "But  when  are  the 
lessons  to  begin  ?  " 


106  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Not  for  the  present,"  declared  Moritz  calmly.  "  I 
intend  postponing  them  until  Raster.  And  I  wished  to 
propose  to  you,  Aunt  Lott,  that  you  change  your  plan 
this  year,  and  pass  your  prescribed  eight  weeks  in 
Z now,  and  take  Elsa  with  you." 

Aunt  Lott's  good  old  face  suddenly  grew  deathly 
pale.  "  Go  away  now  ?"  she  stammered,  "when  Elsa 
is  so  happy — pray,  Moritz — 

"  That  does  not  suit  me  at  all,"  declared  Frieda ; 
"  I  prefer  that  the  children  should  at  least  learn  to  sit 
still." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Frieda  !  "  cried  Aunt  Lott,  more  tragically 
than  ever.  "  Offer  any  reason.  If  the  child  goes  away 
now,  a  happiness  will  be  murdered  !  " 

The  young  wife  laughed  merrily.  "  Aunt,  you  de- 
serve, while  still  alive,  to  have  a  monument  erected 
to  you  under  a  weeping  willow  surrounded  by  roses." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry,  cousin,"  cried  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow,  raising  her  voice,  "  were  you  to  assist  an 
affair  which  we  are  using  all  our  efforts  to  prevent." 

The  old  lady's  face  had  paled  visibly.  "  I  have  not 
assisted,  dear  Ratenow,"  said  she  gravely  and  decidedly. 
"  In  such  an  affair  no  one  can ;  it  is  a  wonder  sent  by 
God.  It  comes — 

"  It  comes,"  Frieda  interrupted  her,  still  laughing — 

"  It  comes  like  perfume  on  the  breeze  ; 
It  comes  as  softly  as  at  night. 
From  darkest  clouds  shines  the  moon's  calm  light  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  "  that 


A  Poor  Girl.  107 

is  very  pretty  to  write  in  an  album,  but  this  is  some- 
thing different.  Do  not  excite  yourself,  she  will  be 
sensible." 

"  How  many  girls'  lives  have  been  ruined  by  these 
words,"  murmured  Aunt  Lott. 

"  This  is  really  no  laughing  matter,  Frieda."  The  old 
lady's  eyes  rested  reproachfully  on  the  laughing,  beau- 
tiful face  of  her  daughter-in-law. 

The  young  lady  was  about  to  open  her  mouth  to 
reply,  when  the  folds  of  the  portieres  parted  and  Elsa 
entered.  Her  whole  manner  seemed  changed,  her 
radiant  brown  eyes  and  her  rosy  cheeks.  Her  "  Good 
morning  "  sounded  so  fresh  and  gay,  it  seemed  as  if  a 
happy  sunbeam  entered  the  room. 

"  Your  father  is  not  well  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Ratenow 
pleasantly. 

"  Unfortunately  no,  dear  aunt.  I  am  going  there 
immediately  after  breakfast." 

"  It  is  thawing,"  said  Moritz  ;  "put  on  thick  boots." 

"  And  when  you  return,  Elsa,  come  to  my  room," 
added  Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 

"  A  note  from  Lieutenant  Bernardi."  The  servant 
came  up  to  Moritz  and  handed  him  a  note. 

Aunt  Lott  suddenly  felt  her  hand  seized  by  a  trem- 
bling little  hand.  Moritz  read  the  note,  his  face  wore  a 
strange  expression  ;  he  read  it  through  once,  then  said, 
without  looking  up,  "  Lieutenant  Bernardi  presents  his 
best  compliments  and  regrets  that  he  cannot  come 
personally  to  say  farewell,  but  unfortunately  his  time  is 


io8  A  Poor  Girl. 

limited.  This  evening  he  leaves  at  six  o'clock  for 

H where  he  has  received  the  post  of  command  of  a 

comrade  who  has  been  taken  ill.  He  begs  that  his  violin 
and  music  may  be  given  to  the  messenger,  and  hopes  that 
the  ladies  are  well  after  yesterday's  dissipation,  and 
that  they  will  keep  him  in  friendly  remembrance." 

"  Get  the  violin  from  the  drawing-room,"  commanded 
Moritz.  Then  he  took  a  visiting-card  from  his  note- 
book, wrote  a  few  words  in  pencil,'put  it  in  an  envelope 
and  handed  it  to  the  servant.  "  Our  best  regards  to 
Lieutenant  Bernardi." 

The  two  brown  eyes  gazed  at  the  little  violin-case  as 
if  bewitched,  as  it  vanished  behind  the  portieres.  All  was 
so  still  in  the  room  that  one  could  hear  only  the  rattling 
of  the  knife  and  fork  which  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  laid  on 
her  plate  and  picked  up  again.  There  is  an  old  saying 
that  at  such  times  an  angel  flies  through  the  room,  but 
this  time  it  was  an  angel  of  death  who  blighted  a  beau- 
tiful flower  as  yet  scarcely  opened,  which  had  just 
begun  to  bloom  so  happily  in  a  young  human  heart. 

At  last  Moritz  resolved  to  speak.  He  compelled  him- 
self to  look  at  the  young,  deathly-pale  face. 

"  Well,  Elsa,  shall  we  go  to  the  city  ?  Shall  we  pur- 
chase the  children's  school-books  ?  "  Involuntarily  he 
pushed  his  hand  across  the  table. 

"•Well,  we  have  sat  long  enough,  children."  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  rose  and  Elsa  left  the  room  ;  she  wished 
to  get  her  things,  she  said  dully. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  the  poor  child!"  said  Aunt  Lott, 


A  Poor  Girl.  109 

bursting  into  tears.  "  She  loves  him,  they  love  each 
other." 

"  Bernardi  is  a  sensible  man,"  declared  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow.  "  Do  not  cry,  Lott,"  she  continued  ;  "  I  have 
long  known  that  it  must  come  so,  but  an  old  woman 
like  me  has  learned  by  experience  that  such  things  can 
be  survived — now  it  is  over." 

"  Good  morning,"  cried  Frieda.  "  I  will  go  and 
dress.  What  a  pity  that  Bernardi  is  going  away ! 
What  will  become  of  our  lovely  musical  evenings  ?  " 
She  disappeared  into  the  adjoining  room.  Moritz 
heard  her  singing  and  talking  carelessly  to  her  little  son. 

"  Moritz,"  said  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  "  Thomas,  the 
jeweller,  has  a  little  enamel  bracelet  in  his  show  window. 
Elsa  admired  it  so  greatly  a  few  days  ago  ;  buy  it,  and  I 
will  return  you  the  money  a  few  days  later.  Well,  good 
morning." 

"  Pray  go  upstairs,  Aunt  Lott,  and  look  after  the 
girl,"  Moritz  begged,  in  nervous  haste. 

"  Is  all  over,  then  ? "  asked  the  weeping  little  lady — 
"  all  ? " 

"  But,  dear  little  auntie,  it  could  not  be  otherwise." 

She  turned  away  and  dried  her  eyes,  then  she  slowly 
ascended  the  stairs. 

Elsa  sat  at  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the  gar- 
den ;  the  snow  had  melted  from  the  trees,  and  the 
branches,  black  and  wet,  tossed  in  the  wind.  The  sky 
was  overcast,  a  fine  mist  was  rising  and  obliterating  the 
landscape.  Aunt  Lott  busied  herself  with  the  stove  ; 


no  A  Poor  Girl. 

the  child  must  not  see  that  she  wept,  and  she  picked 
up  the  dusting-cloth  and  wiped  the  dazzlingly  polished 
furniture  on  which  not  a  speck  of  dust  lay  ;  she  wished 
to  say  something  but  she  did  not  know  what. 

The  door  of  the  young  girl's  bedroom  stood  ajar  ;  in 
her  embarrassment,  the  old  lady  went  in  there.  There 
stood  the  bed  with  its  dainty  white  hangings,  the  little 
crucifix  of  mother-of-pearl  which  she  had  brought  with 
her  from  school  hung  at  the  head  ;  in  the  corner  of  the 
room,  near  the  stove,  was  the  doll-house  with  all  the 
pretty  trifles  of  her  childhood,  and  on  the  table,  under 
the  mirror,  carefully  preserved  in  fresh  water,  the  half- 
withered  bouquet  of  violets.  The  clock  ticked  in  the 
adjoining  room,  except  for  that  there  was  utter  silence. 
Then  a  door  opened  and  Moritz's  voice  was  heard  in 
the  next  room,  as  softly  as  though  he  were  speaking  to 
a  child,  "  Elsa  !  Elsa  !  How  you  look  !  What  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  With  me  ?     Nothing  at  all,  Moritz." 
"  You  are  our  good  sensible  girl,  Elsa." 
She  started  up  from  her  chair.     "  Say  nothing  !     Do 
not  speak  to  me,  Uncle  Moritz,"  she  cried,  and  walked 
past  Aunt  Lott,  who  had  returned  to  the  sitting-room, 
and  stretched  out  both  hands  to  her,  but  she  entered 
her  room  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

He  turned  to  the  window.  "  How  sorry  I  am,  Aunt 
Lott  ! — There  she  goes,"  he  remarked  after  a  while; 
"  she  has  on  her  coat  and  hat.  I  should  not  have  let 
her  go  alone.  Where  can  she  be  going,  Aunt  Lott  ? 


A  Poor  Girl.  in 

She  has  turned  off  towards  the  left,  through  the 
garden." 

"  That  is  the  path  she  always  takes  to  the  church- 
yard, Moritz ;  it  is  nearer,  you  know  ;  she  passes  the 
little  chapel." 

In  fact  she  was  going  there.  At  the  moment  she 
had  no  will  of  her  own.  The  snow  was  very  soft  and 
walking  difficult.  All  at  once  she  was  so  tired,  so  fear- 
fully tired.  Not  far  from  the  entrance  of  the  church- 
yard she  saw  Annie  Cramm  coming  towards  her.  The 
young  lady  had  her  skates  over  her  arm,  and  seemed  in 
great  haste  as  she  came  along  the  path  in  her  elegant 
brown  skating  costume. 

"  Good  morning,  Elsa  ;  how  are  you  ?  "  She  gazed 
keenly  from  beneath  her  veil  at  the  girl's  pale  face. 

"Thank  you,  Annie  ;  very  well,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  churchyard  ?  Good  gracious, 
what  elegiac  thoughts  so  early  in  the  morning,  after 
such  a  gay  evening  !  " 

Elsa  merely  nodded. 

"  I  will  come  with  you  to  the  gate.  Elsa,  if  you  will 
permit.  You  surely  know  that  you  have  become  quite 
famous  over  night,"  said  she  as  they  walked  on.  "  Papa 
came  home  from  the  club,  and  only  think,  he  told  it  as 
the  greatest  news — I  laughed  myself  almost  sick  over 

it — that  Bernardi  has  exchanged  with  Lieutenant  P 

because  he  received  the  mitten  from  your  aunt  or  you. 
I  do  not  know  which.  I  said  at  once  that  it  was 
nonsense — Bernardi !  Well,  you  know,  Elsa,  and  do 


112 


A  Poor  Girl. 


not  be  vexed  with  me,  he  cannot  possibly  marry  a  poor 
girl." 

At  this  moment  the  two  brown  eyes  looked  at  the 
speaker  with  such  an  expression  of  hopeless  misery  that 
the  girl  paused  in  alarm  and  changed  her  skates  from 
her  left  to  her  right  hand. 

"Well,  good-by,  Elsa,"  said  she  finally.  "Perhaps 
I  will  come  to  see  you  this  afternoon.  Give  my  love 
to  Mrs.  von  Ratenow." 


Now  Elsa  stood  at  the  grave  and  stared  at  it,  all  was 
so  cold  and  silent  ;  it  was  only  a  grave — dead — like  that 
which  lay  beneath  it  ;  not  a  soul  was  in  the  church-yard, 
only  a  pert  little  robin  redbreast  sat  there  and  stared 
at  her  with  round  curious  eyes.  She  had  never  felt  the 
signification  of  this  grave  so  fearfully  and  bitterly  as  at 
this  hour  ;  the  religious  mood,  which  usually  was  hers 
when  she  came  here,  would  not  come  to-day.  "Why 


A  Poor  Girl.  113 

am    I    alive,    why  was   I    not  buried  with  her  ? "   she 
thought. 

"  You  will  take  cold  here,  Miss,"  said  the  old  sexton, 
who,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  came  slowly  along  in  his 
heavy  boots.  "  There  is  nothing  to  see  now,  Miss  ;  but 
in  the  spring  it  will  be  pretty  here  ;  then  the  blue 
crocuses  which  you  planted  will  come  up." 

She  turned  away  and  walked  to  the  city.  Her  old 
father  was  there  and  he  was  sick  ;  she  had  wholly 
forgotten  it  in  the  last  few  hours,  these  dreadful 
hours.  On  the  street  she  met  Lieutenant  Rost ;  he 
started  when  he  saw  her,  she  was  so  pale  and  bowed  in 
such  an  absent-minded  way.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
and  looked  after  the  slender,  girlish  form,  then,  whist- 
ling softly,  he  walked  on.  He  always  whistled  when 
anything  affected  him  painfully. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  dear  Elsa  !  Oh,  your 
papa,  your  papa  !  "  Susan  whispered  to  the  young  girl 
down  in  the  hall.  "  There  has  been  no  living  in  the 
house  with  him  since  yesterday  when  the  messenger 
brought  the  great  letter,  and  a  short  time  ago  the 
Bennewitzer  announced  himself,  and  now  he  is  per- 
fectly furious." 

Elsa  entered  the  old  man's  room.  He  sat  in  his  arm- 
chair by  the  window,  his  pipe  lay  on  the  table,  and  his 
hands  held  a  crumpled  letter. 

"You  came  at  last,  Elsa.     I  might  be  sick  and  die 
here  ;  and  yet  it  was  on  your  account  that  I  had  the 
vexation  of  this  accursed  affair." 
8 


H4  -A  Poor  Girl. 

She  had  no  word  of  reply  to  his  unjust  reproof.  "  I 
will  stay  with  you,  papa,  if  you  wish,"  said  she  after  a 
pause. 

"  No;  I  do  not  wish  it  at  all,  you  know  that  that  cannot 
be.  But  I  must  speak  with  you  ;  you  must  know  that 
there  is  no  longer  any  justice ;  that  yesterday  I  learned 
that  the  suit  had  been  decided  against  me,  because — 
just  because  it  was  mine.  If  the  Bennewitzer  were  I 
and  I  he,  the  bread  would,  of  course,  not  fall  down  on 
the  buttered  side." 

Elsa  was  silent ;  her  head  ached,  and  she  was  so  in- 
different as  to  what  life  now  had  before  her. 

"  But  may  the  devil  take  me  if  I  will  let  matters  go 
thus.  I  shall  proceed  if  I  must  carry  the  suit  to  the 
highest  court  of  the  empire  and  starve  to  do  it.  And 
what  do  you  think,"  he  continued,  striking  the  table 
with  his  clenched  fist,  "here  this  man  who  has  not  an 
iota  more  than  I,  once  more  offers  me  alms  and  tells 
me  that  he  will  come  here  to-day  to  see  me !  Would 
you  have  considered  that  possible  ?  He  shall  come. 
Susan  shall  let  him  in,  I  am  just  in  the  right  mood." 

Ah,  how  terribly  hopeless  and  desolate  this  life  was, 
this  world,  where  everything  depends  upon  wealth, 
where  even  the  noblest  and  purest  feeling  of  the  human 
heart  must  yield  to  contemptible  interests.  The  girl 
felt  a  loathing  of  wealth,  of  the  power  of  money  ;  her 
faith,  her  love,  her  ideals  were  trodden  in  the  dust,  and 
she  must  live.  She  clasped  her  forehead  with  both 
hands  when  the  old  man  began  to  scold  again. 


A  Poor  Girl.  >     115 

"  Papa,  pray  stop  !  "  she  begged.  "  It  is  all  of  no 
matter — I  need  nothing." 

They  both  were  silent.  Elsa  stood  by  the  stove  and 
gazed  about  the  dingy,  smoky  room  ;  outside,  the  melt- 
ing snow  dripped  monotonously  from  the  eaves,  and 
occasionally  some  noise  in  the  street  was  heard.  Now 
steps,  the  house  door  was  opened,  and  the  steps  came 
up  the  stairs.  She  left  the  room. 

"  Stay  down-stairs,  Mr.  von  Hegebach,"  she  asked 
softly,  leaning  over  the  banisters. 

"Why  ?     I  must  speak  with  my  cousin." 

"  Papa  is  so  excited,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  look  pale,  Miss  von  Hegebach  ;  Avill  it  disturb 
you  if  I " 

"  Papa  is  ill,  I  think,"  Elsa  interposed. 

"  May  I  speak  with  you  then,  Mademoiselle  ?' 

"  With  me  ?     Oh,  yes  ;   but " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Indeed — I  do  not  know — 

Susan  came  and  opened  the  door.  "  It  is  in  good 
order,  and  not  too  cold,  Elsa." 

It  was  a  small  room  in  which  they  now  stood;  in  the 
back  part  stood  the  old  woman's  store  of  apples,  a  chest 
gayly  painted  with  flowers,  a  wardrobe,  two  spinning- 
wheels  and  a  reel,  while  the  whole  room  was  fragrant 
with  the  fruit.  The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  shone 
through  the  little  window  and  fell  upon  the  aristocratic 
face  of  the  Bennewitzer  Hegebach. 

"  I  come  to  speak  once  more  with  your  papa;  he  is 


n6  A  Poor  Girl. 


only  putting  himself  to  useless  exertion  and  expense, 
my  dear  young  lady  ;  be  assured  that  he  will  obtain 
nothing  by  a  new  suit,  and  that  I  deeply  pity  him ; 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  influence  over  papa,  Mr.  von 
Hegebach,"  answered  Elsa. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  But  perhaps  you  can  tell  him 
that  I  am  still  ready  to  fulfil  my  former  proposition." 

"  Papa  will  accept  no  money,"  was  the  cold  reply. 

"But  why  do  you  take  that  view  of  the  matter?  "  he 
asked,  also  becoming  cooler.  u  I  merely  offer  him  the 
interest  of  a  capital  which  I  cannot  take  out  of  the 
estate." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"  But  you  should  represent  my  intentions  to  your 
father  in  his  and  in  your  interests,  my  dear  cousin." 

"  In  papa's  interests  ?  He  wishes  nothing  for  him- 
self. And  I — I  thank  you  very  much." 

"  So  speak  only  girls  of  your  age,  who  do  not  yet 
know  what  it  is  to " 

"  To  have  no  money,  to  be  poor  ?  "  the  young  girl 
interrupted  him,  and  all  the  bitterness  of  her  heart  came 
from  the  quivering  lips.  "  I  know,  Mr.  von  Hegebach, 
one  learns  very  soon.  If  God  were  just,  he  would 
create  no  poor  girls,  or  he  would  at  least  let  them  come 
into  the  world  heartless  and  unfeeling." 

Involuntarily  he  drew  back  and  stared  at  the  little 
mouth  drawn  with  pain  which  had-  spoken  these 
words. 

"  Whence  comes  this  bitterness  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 


A  Poor  Girl.  117 

"  Other  girls  of  your  age,  at  worst,  weep  when  a  dis- 
appointment befalls  them." 

"I  have  no  reason  to  weep,"  she  replied  shortly. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  go  thus,  Elsa  von  Hegebach,"  he 
began  after  a  pause  ;  "  it  seems  to  me  that  I  do  wrong 
to  leave  you  in  this  bitter  frame  of  mind.  At  least 
promise  me  that  you  will  consider  what  I  said  before;  it 
is  no  alms,  it  is  your  right  that  is  offered  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  papa " 

"  But  you  yourself  !  " 

"I?  Oh,  I  have  passed  my  governess's  examinations." 
It  was  the  old  tune  again.  It  sounded  almost  scornful. 

"You  have  your  father's  obstinacy,"  he  said,  taking 
his  hat.  "  Where  must  I  turn  to  find  some  one  with 
some  influence  over  you  ?  " 

"  I  fear  you  would  seek  in  vain  for  such  a  person, 
Mr.  von  Hegebach." 

"Good-by,  Miss  von  Hegebach."  She  inclined  her 
head  slightly,  and  he  left  the  house. 

When  the  girl  was  alone,  she  leaned  her  head  against 
the  white-washed  wall  ;  something  like  a  groan  was 
heard  in  the  little  room,  and  the  slender  form  trembled 
violently. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  asked  the  old  man  irritably,  when 
she  returned  to  him. 

"  The  Bennewitzer,  papa." 

"  And  you  would  not  allow  him  to  see  me  ? " 

"  I  told  him  that  you  were  not  well ;  he  wished  to 
offer  you  the  income  again." 


n8  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Let  him  go  to  the — "  burst  out  the  old  man  ;  "  it 
is  the  surest  proof  that  he  is  on  an  insecure  footing." 

"  Shall  I  stay  with  you,  papa  ?  Will  you  have  some 
tea  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No !  I  am  going  to  bed.  I  do  not  feel  quite 
well." 

"  Let  me  stay  here  !  "  She  had  come  quite  near 
him  in  the  darkness  ;  now  her  hands  rested  upon  his 
shoulders. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Elsa  ?  Why  do  you  wish 
to  stay  here  ?"  It  sounded  almost  gentle. 

"Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  belong  with  you,  papa." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  But  then  I  should  not  be  a  beggar, 
child." 

"  Do  I  not  even  then,  papa  ?  " 

She  received  no  answer.  "  Listen,  Elsa,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  the  Bennewitzer  has  neither  chick  nor  child, 
and  if  there  were  any  justice  you  should  inherit  all  that 
fortune  some  day.  But  just  because  you  are  a  girl — 
the  contemptible  will  expressly  states  that  girls  are 
positively  excluded  from  inheriting." 

Suddenly  she  knelt  beside  him  and  laid  her  head  on 
his  hand. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  "  it  torments  me  every  day 
that  you  were  not  a  boy  ;  not  for  my  sake,  no,  for  yours. 
Your  mother  cried  out  in  alarm  when  they  told  her  that 
you  were  a  girl;  we  had  thought  you  must  positively  be 
a  boy.  Her  last  words  were,  '  Oh,  a  girl !  A  poor  little 
girl !  '  Ah,  well,  so  it  is ;  you  must  get  along  as  best 


A  Poor  Girl. 


119 


you  can,  child.  But  promise  me  one  thing — when  I  am 
dead — I  have  indeed  done  nothing  to  make  you  love  me 
much,  every  one  else  has  done  more  for  you,  the  Rate- 
now  and  Moritz  ;  but  one  cannot  choose  one's  father 
in  this  world,  Elsa." 


"  No,   papa,   and  I    cannot 
help  it  that  I  am  a  poor  girl," 
said  she,  childishly.   And  two  large 
tears  rolled   down  on   to   the   old 
man's  hand. 

"  Do  not  cry,  child,  pray  do  not 
cry!"  He  was  nervous  again.  "And 
you  must  go,  Elsa;  it  is  dark  al- 
ready." 

She  rose  and  looked  for  hat  and 
cloak.  "  Sleep  well,  papa.  I  will 
come  again  when  I  have  time.  I 
begin  my  lessons  to-morrow." 
She  walked  down  the  tlark  dirty  street ;  usually  she 
had  always  been  afraid  at  this  time  of  the  evening,  to- 
day she  did  not  think  of  it.  The  wind  had  risen  and 
howled  through  the  long  alley,  and  the  fine  rain  cooled 
her  cheeks  and  eyes. 


i2o  A  Poer  Girl. 

She  walked  as  slowly  as  though  it  were  a  May  even- 
ing. A  carriage  suddenly  turned  through  the  castle 
gate  and  drove  past  her  at  a  rapid  pace  ;  it  was  the 
Bennewitzer's  carriage.  He  must  have  paid  Aunt  Rate- 
now  a  visit,  perhaps  to  find  in  her  an  ally. 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  die,"  she  thought.  She  must 
return  to  the  house,  and  yet  she  would  prefer  to  run 
away  as  far  as  her  feet  could  carry  her. 

"  Miss  von  Hegebach,  you  are  to  go  at  once  to  the 
mistress,"  said  the  servant  in  the  vestibule.  She  gave 
him  her  hat  and  cloak,  and  went  directly. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  sat  on  the  sofa  ;  a  decanter  and 
two  glasses  stood  on  the  table,  and  the  fragrance  of 
a  fine  cigar  still  scented  the  air.  "  How  is  your 
father?"  she  asked,  and  motioned  to  the  girl  to  be 
seated. 

"  I  thank  you,  he  is  not  well,  aunt." 

"  You  look  pale,  that  is  from  dancing,  Elsa." 

"Yes,  aunt." 

"  Listen,  there  comes  the  little  mouse,"  said  the 
old  lady,  smiling  at  the  pretty  child  who  crossed  the 
room  with  an  expression  of  solemn  importance  and 
went  up  to  Elsa.  "  From  grandmama,  auntie,"  she 
whispered,  and  laid  something  heavy  in  the  young 
girl's  lap,  then  quickly  ran  back  to  her  hiding-place. 
It  was  a  pretty  enamel  bracelet  which  Elsa  held  in  her 
hand. 

"You  are  so  good,  dear  aunt,"  said  she,  gazing 
at  her  with  ber  beautiful  brown  eyes.  They  were  no 


A  Poor  Girl.  121 

longer  child's  eyes  since  this  morning,  and  she 
kissed  the  offered  hand.  "  I  will  wear  it  in  remem- 
brance of  you." 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  you  to  do  so,  Elsa.  And  now 
go — the  Bennewitzer  left  his  regards  for  you." 

Having  reached  her  room,  she  hastily  put  away  the 
bracelet.  She  wished  no  pity,  she  could  not  endure  it, 
she  thought.  As  though  an  ornament  could  cure  her 
heartache  and  bitter  longing.  She  would  gladly  have 
kept  her  room,  but  then  they  would  think  she  was 
weeping  for  him,  and  she  would  not  shed  a  tear,  not 
one. 

But  it  could  not  be  thus.  Suddenly  she  inhaled  a 
sweet  perfume,  a  perfume  which  only  yesterday  had  al- 
most intoxicated  her.  There  stood  the  violets,  his  vio- 
lets, and  it  seemed  as  though  they  spoke  with  his  voice, 
"  Happiness  !  What  is  happiness  if  not  this  moment  ?  " 
Suddenly  she  sobbed  loudly  ;  it  sounded  like  a  cry  of 
pain,  and  the  next  moment  the  room  door  opened  and 
Aunt  Lott  held  the  quivering  girl  in  her  arms. 

Aunt  Lott  knew  all  ;  she  might  also  see  that  her 
heart  was  broken,  quite  broken. 


IX. 

ABOUT  two  weeks  had  passed,  when  one  morning 
Aunt  Lott  went  down-stairs  and  asked  for  Moritz.  The 
servant  told  her  that  he  was  with  his  wife,  so  the  old 
lady  crossed  Frieda's  blue  drawing-room  and  asked, 
pausing  behind  the  portieres,  "  Do  I  disturb  you, 
children  ?  " 

"  Come  in,  Aunt  Lott !  "  cried  Moritz. 

Frieda  sat  at  the  writing-desk.  "  One  moment,  aunt," 
said  she,  and  once  more  glanced  over  the  sheet  of  note 
paper  adorned  with  her  crest. 

"  MY  DEAREST  LILI: 

"  Only  a  few  words  in  the  greatest  haste  so  that  you  may  be 
au  fait  as  regards  my  ball  costume  for  Berlin,  as  we  will  soon  be 
together.  I  have  ordered  of  Gerson  a  white  satin  gown  embroid- 
ered in  silver,  the  corsage  of  drap  <T argent,  and  shall  wear  my  dia- 
monds with  it  instead  of  flowers.  I  think  it  will  have  quite  a 
distinguished  look.  Mamma  and  Moritz  insist  upon  taking  with 
them  Elsa,  who,  of  late,  has  been  more  than  tiresome,  a  cause  de 
MonsieurBernardi.  Mamma  has  ordered  a  pink  silk  gown  for  her. 
I  have  had  more  than  enough  of  this  Elizabeth  worship,  and  mean 
to  express  my  opinion  to  Moritz  thoroughly.  I  earnestly  beg  you, 
Lili,  never  to  take  into  your  house  a  young  girl  who  has  certain 
family  rights,  it  is  more  than  annoying  ;  especially  when  the  master 


A  Poor  Girl.  123 

of  the  house  feels  under  as  great  obligations  to  play  the  fatherly 
protector  and  knight  as  Moritz.  My  patience  will  not  last  much 
longer.  Give  my  love  to  father  and  mother.  Auf  Wiedersehen. 

"  Your  Sister,  FRIEDA. 

"  P.  S.  —  The  Bennewitzer  comes  remarkably  often  now.  I  do  not 
trust  my  mother-in-law  on  this  subject  ;  she  says  on  Elsa's  father's 
account.  There  is  an  old  proverb—  but  I  will  not  write  it  down 
here. 


"  Now,  auntie,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  after  sealing 
and  addressing  the  letter.  And  she  went  to  a  charming 
little  cabinet,  drew  out  different  drawers,  and  prepared 
to  inspect  her  jewels.  She  wore  a  pale-blue  ntglig^  and 
upon  her  luxuriant  black  hair  rested  a  lace  rosette  with 
blue  ribbons. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  began  Aunt  Lott,  turning  to  Moritz,  who 
sat  motionless  beside  the  fire,  in  his  rough  suit  and 
heavy  boots,  just  as  he  had  come  from  the  fields.  "  Oh, 
dear,  Moritz,  I  am  so  worried  about  Elsa  —  she  does  not 
complain,  she  says  nothing,  but  she  does  not  sleep  at 
all,  she  eats  nothing,  and  grows  so  thin.  Will  you  not 
send  the  doctor  upstairs  when  he  comes  ?  I  am  afraid 
she  will  torment  herself  sick  about  this  Bernardi." 

"  Is  the  comedy  not  at  an  end  yet  ?  "  asked  the 
young  wife.  What  will  you  have  ?  Elsa  seems  highly 
satisfied.  That  she  is  a  little  bit  shy  about  going  out 
is  natural  ;  she  was  the  talk  of  the  town  for  a  week." 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  reserved,  Frieda,"  said  the  old  lady, 
nodding  gravely,  "  but  -  '' 


124  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Well,  you  do  all  you  can  to  console  her,"  continued 
Frieda  irritably,  and  replaced  a  costly  gem  in  its  box 
somewhat  roughly.  "  No  one  asks  whether  I  am  suited 
now,  everything  is  Elsa.  Mamma  does  so,  and  the  chil- 
dren and  Moritz.  I  may  not  even  express  a  wish,  and 
after  this  I  shall  not  say  another  word  at  the  table." 

Aunt  Lott  looked  fairly  in  alarm  at  Moritz,  who 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  so  indifferently. 

"  Auntie,  Frieda  knows  that  it  is  very  becoming  to 
her  to  pout  a  little.  But  you  must  not  take  this  bad 
temper  with  us  to  Berlin,  child,  or  else — 

"  If  you  insist  upon  taking  Elsa  with  you,  I  shall  stay 
here  with  my  bad  temper,"  she  interrupted. 

"  You  must  arrange  that  with  mother,"  said  he  calmly  ; 
"she  wishes  that  Elsa  should  accompany  us." 

"  I  cannot  take  her  on  account  of  the  children,"  per- 
sisted his  wife.  "  I  really  do  not  see  why  I  should  have 
a  governess  if  I  cannot  once  leave  home  in  peace." 

"  Up  to  this  time,  the  old  nurse  has  always  been  suf- 
ficient to  take  charge  of  them.  But  as  you  will,  Frieda. 
I  have  never  quarrelled  with  you  when  it  pleased  you 
to  put  on  your  defiant  little  mood,  you  know  it.  To-day 
is  the  last  day  in  which  Elsa  shall  act  as  governess.  I 
will  take  steps  this  very  hour  to  engage  another  lady." 

Frieda  was  silent,  and  closed  one  drawer  after  another 
very  slowly. 

"  I  only  beg  you  to  be  considerate,  Frieda,"  he  began 
again,  "  do  not  let  the  girl  suspect  the  cause  of  this  ar- 
rangement, The  rest  will  take  care  of  itself," 


A  Poor  Girl. 


125 


He  had  risen,  took  cap  and  riding  whip  from  the 
nearest  chair,  and  left  the  room.  In  the  same  moment 
the  young  wife  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst 
into  tears. 


'\ 


"Oh,   Aunt    Lott,   I 
am  so  very  unhappy  !  " 
The   good   old  lady 
did  not  know  what  to 
make    of    this     scene. 
"  For    Heaven's    sake, 
Frieda,    what   is   the 
matter  with  you  ?  " 
"  He  no  longer  loves  me  !  "    sobbed  the  beautiful 
woman,  and  threw  herself  into  an  arm-chair.     "  I  know 
it  too  well,  he  loves  me  no  longer  !  " 


126  A  Poo,  Girl. 

"  Good  heavens,  you  surely  are  not  jeal ?  "  The 

frightened  spinster  could  not  utter  the  whole  word. 

"  And  now  he  will  go  to  mamma — to  mamma,  who 
always  treats  me  like  a  silly  child  !  " 

Suddenly  she  started  up  ;  the  blue  curtains  were 
parted,  and  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  in  all  her  stateliness, 
entered  the  room. 

"  Well,  Frieda,  I  just  heard  from  Moritz  that  you 
are  not  feeling  quite  well,"  she  began,  seating  herself 
beside  the  weeping  young  woman. 

Frieda  stammered  something  about  a  headache. 

"  Of  course  !  "  The  old  lady  took  her  hand.  "  The 
noise  of  the  children  all  day  long  is  too  much  for  you. 
I  know  that  nerves  are  the  fashion  nowadays.  But  I 
will  make  you  a  proposition  :  Send  the  little  girls  to 
school ;  the  house  will  be  delightfully  quiet  then,  my 
little  daughter,  and  you  need  no  longer  worry  yourself 
with  a  governess,  eh  ? " 

The  young  wife  started  up  from  her  reclining  posi- 
tion, but  could  not  answer. 

"  Elsa  Hegebach  shall  remain  here  as  my  companion, 
dear  child,"  continued  the  old  lady,  raising  her  voice  ; 
"  and  as  such  I  will  know  how  to  protect  her  from  all 
insult,  Frieda  !  " 

Frieda  had  paled  slightly.  "  I  did  not  mean  it  so," 
said  she,  beginning  to  cry  again. 

"  Where  is  Elsa  ?  "  asked  her  mother-in-law. 

"  In  the  nursery  ;  she  is  giving  the  children  an  arith- 
metic lesson,"  was  the  reply  in  a  low  tone. 


A  Poor  Girl.  127 

"  I  hope  to  see  you  at  tea  this  evening,"  continued 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow.  "  Pray  be  punctual,  Aunt  Lott. 
The  Bennewitzer  is  coming." 

"  The  third  time  in  two  weeks,"  remarked  Frieda, 
rising.  "  He  never  used  to  come,  or  at  least  very 
seldom." 

"  Certainly.  For  years  he  had  an  invalid  wife,  and 
until  recently  he  has  been  in  deep  mourning.  Shall 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  tea  this  evening  ?  " 
she  asked  once  more. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  dear  mamma,  we  are  invited  to 
tea  at  Mrs.  von  Z "s." 

"Elsatoo?" 

"  Elsa  was  invited,  but  declined." 

''Then  I  trust  she  will  accept  my  invitation."  And 
the  old  lady  nodded  to  her  daughter-in-law  most  pleas- 
antly. "  Good  morning,  my  dear  child  ;  send  the  chil- 
dren to  me  for  a  little  while,  if  you  like." 

"  Do  you  see,  auntie,  mamma  is  always  like  that," 
complained  Frieda.  "  Any  one  will  admit  that  I  am 
right.  If  Elsa  undertakes  to  educate  the  children  she 
should  do  it  entirely.  I  am  the  last  person  to  demand 
anything  exorbitant  of  her.  If  I  lose  my  patience  it  is 
no  wonder.  I  fancy  the  children  will  at  last  learn  some- 
thing ;  and  Moritz  comes  and  says  :  '  Elsa,  we  are  going 
to  the  subscription  ball  in  Berlin  ;  mother  will  give  you 
a  dress.'  How  are  the  lessons  to  continue  in  earnest?" 

"  I  think  Elsa  did  not  wish  to  accept  your  offer, 
Frieda."  The  anxious  old  lady  defended  her  protigt. 


iz8  A  Poor  Girl. 

But  she  was  forced  to  listen  to  a  long  lament.  Frieda 
considered  her  rights  so  deeply  infringed  upon  she 
even  fulfilled  her  threat,  and  did  not  utter  a  syllable  at 
dinner. 

Thus  a  storm  which  had  long  threatened  Moritz's 
domestic  happiness  burst  ;  the  atmosphere  of  the  house 
was  oppressive  despite  the  clear,  frosty  weather  outside. 
Elsa  did  not  notice  it ;  she  had  a  little  girl  on  either 
side,  and  was  sufficiently  occupied  in  answering  the 
children's  questions.  At  first  Moritz  had  not  wished 
the  children  to  come  to  the  dinner-table,  but  Elsa  had 
thought  it  best  that  they  should,  so  they  were  per- 
mitted to  their  great  delight. 

She  did,  indeed,  look  miserable,  and  she  was  very 
quiet ;  this  was  the  result  of  her  combat  with  a  proud, 
injured  heart,  which  incessantly  asked,  "  Why  ?  "  This 
was  the  result  of  the  sleepless  nights  and  tormenting 
longing  for  the  lost  golden  days.  She  seemed  to  her- 
self a  pariah  among  the  others,  hopeless  and  repulsive, 
and  only  because — she  was  poor  !  Her  brown  eyes 
might  not  even  weep,  like  those  of  the  poor  girl  in  the 
song.  But  still  there  was  much  in  the  world  that  made 
life  desirable  ;  hundreds  and  hundreds  had  shared  her 
fate,  and  had  yet  become  calm  and  content  through 
hard  work — without  happiness.  But  the  path  of  all 
these  had  gone  through  thorns  and  thistles  ;  a  young, 
wounded  heart,  thirsting  for  happiness,  could  not  find 
forgetfulness  in  a  few  days  ;  years,  long  years,  were 
required  for  that. 


A  Poor  Girl.  129 

In  the  evening  old  Mrs.  von  Ratenow's  room  was  the 
coseyest  in  the  whole  house  ;  the  tea-kettle  sang  and 
hummed  in  every  key  ;  the  heavy  curtains  were  drawn 
before  the  windows,  keeping  out  every  draught ;  the 
lamp-light  was  reflected  in  the  shining  silver  and  glass 
on  the  snow-white  damask  table-cloth  ;  and  Aunt  Lott 
and  the  owner  sat  on  the  sofa,  the  latter  her  white 
knitting  in  her  hand.  Elsa,  busy  with  some  dainty 
work,  sat  near  the  alcohol  lamp,  above  which  hung  the 
kettle  ;  she  wore  a  dark  house-gown  and  a  delicately 
embroidered  apron.  The  Bennewitzer  was  expected. 

These  hours  with  the  old  gentleman  were  fairly 
horrible  to  Elsa  ;  her  feelings  were  too  varied.  Since 
her  father  had  recently  spoken  his  first  pleasant  words 
to  her,  her  childish  heart  had  gone  out  in  passionate 
love  to  the  surly  man.  She  knew  that  he  had  not 
treated  his  cousin  well,  but  he  had  said  that  he  did  it 
for  her  sake,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl  that  excused 
everything,  his  moods,  his  obstinacy,  the  slight  interest 
in  herself.  He  had  long  since  again  become  unfriendly 
as  ever  to  her,  but  she  had  had  one  glance  into  his 
embittered  nature  ;  now  no  word  was  too  harsh,  no 
mood  too  gloomy  for  her  ;  the  dross  of  grief  and  soli- 
tude merely  covered  the  golden  heart  of  the  old  man  ; 
he  was  her  father,  the  only  being  upon  whom  she  had  a 
claim,  a  sacred  right. 

The  Bennewitzer's  presence  therefore  was  painful  to 
her.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  never  spoken  in  the  castle 
of  his  visit  to  her  father ;  but,  nevertheless,  she  knew 
9 


130  A  Poor  Girl. 

what  he  thought  of  him,  and  that  pained  her  unspeak- 
ably. Besides  Aunt  Ratenow  praised  the  Bennewitzer 
so  uncommonly.  Aunt  Ratenow  had  such  pronounced 
likes  and  dislikes,  and  one  must  oppose  nothing  to 
these,  for  the  old  lady  could  then  raise  her  voice  so 
loudly.  "Good  or  bad,  there  is  nothing  between,"  she 
often  remarked.  There  was  no  medium  for  her,  it  was 
foreign  to  her  whole  character.  Bernardi's  name  never 
passed  her  lips  ;  the  affair  was  ended  once  for  all,  the 
less  it  was  discussed  the  better.  A  wound  must  bleed, 
she  thought,  but  that  could  happen  secretly  without 
attracting  notice. 

"  Elsa,"  she  began  in  her  deep  voice — she  pushed 
back  her  spectacles  and  let  the  paper  fall — "  you  may 
read  aloud  to  me,  my  eyes  grow  daily  worse.  I  do  not 
know,  Lottie,  how  you  have  preserved  yours  with  your 
eternal  reading.  It  is  a  true  comfort  to  me  that  Moritz 
has  yielded  to  my  request,  and  taken  the  instruction  of 
the  children  from  you,  Elsa.  I  am  really  able  neither 
to  read  the  paper  in  the  morning  nor  to  write  a  letter 
except  in  a  wretched  scrawl." 

Elsa  took  the  paper.  "  If  I  were  only  sure,  dear  aunt, 
that  Moritz  and  Frieda  were  not  dissatisfied  with  me  as 
a  teacher." 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  people  always  say  when  they  wish 
to  be  complimented,"  replied  the  old  lady.  "  No,  no, 
it  is  not  that  ;  I  begged  Moritz  to  do  it.  How  do  you 
think  a  person  fares  when  she  cannot  see  well  ?  But 
there  comes  the  Bennewitzer  !  "  she  interrupted  herself. 


A  Toor  Girl.  131 

A  carriage  rolled  across  the  yard  and  stopped  before 
the  door.  Steps  were  heard  in  the  hall,  and  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow  rose  with  a  certain  solemnity. 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear  Hegebach  !  "  cried  she, 
shaking  his  hand  vigorously.  "  I  am  glad  that  you  come 
to  enliven  three  lonely  women." 

He  kissed  the  offered  hand  politely,  and  bowed  to 
Aunt  Lott  and  Elsa.  To  the  latter  he  gave  a  white 
paper  parcel. 

"  The  only  one  in  the  conservatory,"  he  said  courte- 
ously. It  was  a  magnificent  Marshal  Niel  ;  the  beauti- 
ful yellow  flower  nodded  heavily  on  its  graceful  stem. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  von  Hegebach." 

She  placed  the  rose  in  a  little  vase,  and  busied  herself 
about  the  tea-table. 

"  Is  there  any  news,  dear  Mr.  Hegebach  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow  ;  and  with  that  conversation  was 
started.  Both  knew  all  the  countryside,  and  from  that 
they  came  to  old  times. 

"  Pardon,  dear  Hegebach,  I  am  ten  years  older 
than  you  ;  just  as  old  as  your  cousin,  I  know  very  well." 

"  No,  you  are  mistaken,  my  dear  madam,"  he  declared, 
very  calmly.  "  At  most  you  are  but  eight  years  older. 
I  was  thirty-six  when  I  married,  and  that  was  eighteen 
years  ago.  Remember  that  my  poor  eldest  boy  was  in 
the  third  class  at  school." 

"  True  ;  how  time  passes,  Hegebach  !  " 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  Elsa  will  be  nineteen  this 
spring,"  said  Aunt  Lott. 


132  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Well,  there  are  older  people  than  we,  Hegebach  ; 
you  are  really  still  a  young  man,"  said  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow. 

Aunt  Lott  glanced  at  him  ;  he  was  aristocratic,  stately, 
still  handsome,  but  young?  She  had  long  ceased  to 
consider  herself  young,  yet  she  was  not  many  years 
his  senior.  "  Men  always  have  the  advantage  of  us," 
thought  she. 

Elsa  sat  there  quietly,  her  thoughts  were  quite  dif- 
ferent. What  did  she  care  about  old,  long-forgotten 
stories  ?  All  those  lay  so  far  behind  her.  A  nervous 
uneasiness  took  possession  of  her  as  was  so  often  the 
case.  She  would  gladly  have  gone  up  to  her  little 
room,  seated  herself  at  the  window,  and  thought  and 
dreamed  ;  it  was  so  very  hard  not  to  give  way  to  her 
sad,  longing  thoughts,  but  be  forced  to  answer  and 
listen. 

"  How  is  your  father  ? "  asked  the  Bennewitzer,  and 
leaned  toward  Elsa. 

"  Thank  you,  not  very  well  I  think,"  she  replied. 

"  And  not  yet  in  a  milder  frame  of  mind  ?  "  He 
spoke  softly  and  his  dark  eyes  gazed  into  hers  plead- 
ingly. 

She  suddenly  blushed.  "  Papa  does  not  change  his 
views  over  night,"  said  she  roughly  and  loudly. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow's  face  darkened.  "  Elsa,  please 
pour  tea." 

The  young  girl  rose,  crossed  the  soft  carpet  noise- 
lessly, and  disappeared  into  the  next  room.  Baron  von 


A  Poor  Girl.  133 

Hegebach's  eyes  followed  her,  he  stroked  his  dark 
beard  slowly  with  his  white,  well-cared-for  hand.  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  spoke  of  something  else,  she  apparently 
wished  to  make  him  forget  the  rough  answer.  When 
the  young  girl  returned,  they  were  chatting  animatedly. 

Baron  von  Hegebach  was  an  excellent  companion  ; 
he  had  travelled  extensively,  he  knew  a  number  of  dis- 
tinguished, famous  people.  He  spoke  of  Lapland  and 
Lebanon,  and  he  talked  well.  He  had  everywhere  seen 
the  best ;  he  had  raved  over  the  Nile  and  sketched  it ; 
he  had  stood  by  the  falls  of  Niagara.  He  was  a  man 
who  knew  the  pleasantest  side  of  life.  And  there,  in  the 
gloomy  house,  sat  a  solitary  old  man  who  did  not  even 
have  the  money  necessary  for  travelling  expenses,  that 
he  might  visit  a  cure  for  the  relief  of  his  sufferings. 
What  his  cousin  had  paid  in  Cairo  for  a  single  dagger 
would  have  been  sufficient  for  several  weeks'  stay  in 
Teplitz. 

Hateful,  angry  thoughts  were  hidden  behind  Elsa's 
white  forehead.  All  in  which  she  had  formerly  believed, 
love,  fidelity,  nobility,  were  absurdities,  long  since  out 
of  date.  To-day  but  one  thing  conferred  happiness, 
power — money,  wealth. 

"  To  our  good  friendship,  dear  little  cousin  !  "  The 
Bennewitzer  raised  his  glass.  She  touched  hers  to  it. 

"  Will  you  not  look  at  me  ?  "  said  he  gravely. 

Again  her  face  flushed  crimson,  she  Avas  vexed  with 
herself,  but  those  eyes  wore  such  a  strange  expression. 

"  Stay  here,  Elsa  !  "  cried  Mrs,  von  Ratenow,  as  the 


134  A  Poor  Girl. 

Bennewitzer  drove  away  about  eleven  o'clock,  not  with- 
out having  received  a  promise  that  the  ladies  would 
soon  visit  him  at  Bennewitz 

Elsa  returned  and  seated  herself  again.  Aunt  Lott 
had  already  taken  leave  at  the  stroke  of  ten. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  looked  vexed,  but  did  not  know 
how  to  begin.  "  You  have  a  strange  way  of  treating  the 
Bennewitzer,  dear  child,"  said  she,  at  length.  "  It  is 
absurd  to  lay  up  against  him  a  suit  which  your  father 
was  foolish  enough  to  enter  into  ;  you  should  at  least  be 
neutral." 

"  I  know  that  Baron  von  Hegebach  is  entirely  in  the 
right,  aunt,"  said  Elsa,  gazing  directly  at  the  old  lady. 
"  I  do  not  lay  up  anything  against  him,  that  would  be 
foolish." 

"  Very  well !  But  why  are  you  so — so  repellent  to 
him  ?  " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  aunt — "  she  stammered. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  rose  and  gave  her  her  hand.  "  I 
do  not  know  whether  you  are  different  from  others — 
you  are  not  usually  one  of  those  whom  it  is  hard  to 
make  understand.  Good-night,  Elsa  !  " 

The  girl  rushed  upstairs  to  her  room  as  if  chased. 
No,  it  was  not  possible,  her  aunt  could  not  possibly 
have  meant  what  flashed  through  her  mind  at  that 
moment.  But  what  else  ?  She  laughed  aloud,  but  it 
was  a  scornful  laugh,  it  sounded  strangely  even  to  her. 
Then  she  stood  before  the  mirror  and  gazed  at  her  pale 
face.  Certainly  it  was  absurd,  only  her  excitement 


A  Poor  Girl.  135 

could  make  her  imagine  such  foolishness.  No,  aunt 
had  meant  nothing  ;  it  had  been  merely  a  common  form 
of  speech,  naturally. 

"Aunt  Lott,"  she  then  called  softly.  It  seemed  as 
though  she  were  afraid  of  her  own  thoughts,  and  she 
went  into  the  old  lady's  painfully  neat  bedroom. 

"What  is  it,  my  darling  ?  "  was  the  sleepy  query. 

"  I  feel  so  timid,  aunt." 

And  Aunt  Lott  sat  up  in  bed  good-naturedly. 

"  This  evening  I  was  so  reminded  of  your  mother, 
child,"  she  began.  "  We  always  sat  in  cousin  Ratenow's 
room  when  your  father  came  a-courting  her.  You  re- 
semble her  so  greatly,  Elsa,  and  yet  have  a  likeness  to 
the  Bennewitzer  and  your  father — the  voice  and  gesture 
— but  the  beard,  you  know,  and  then  he  always  looked 
at  her  in  silence." 

The  girl  stood  motionless  ;  an  inexplicable  anxiety 
contracted  her  throat. 

"  It  is  almost  twenty  years  since  then,  and  yet  it 
seems  like  to-day  to  me,  Elsa,"  the  old  lady  continued, 
in  her  complaining  tearful  manner;  "  only  that  Aunt 
Ratenow  has  grown  much  stouter  and  that  my  hair  has 
turned  white.  How  vivid  the  past  sometimes  becomes! 
Lieschen,  your  mother,  always  came  to  my  bedside 
then,  and  once,  I  remember  very  well,  she  said,  "  Lottie, 
Lottie,  I  feel  so  timid." 

"  Aunt,  pray  stop — I  am  frightened."  The  slender 
girlish  figure,  which  stood  close  beside  the  bed,  shook 
as  with  a  nervous  chill. 


136  A   Poor  Girl. 

"  You  are  not  well,  Elsa." 

"  No,  I  believe  I  am  going  to  be  ill,  aunt." 

"  Poor  child — that  is  from  your  grieving." 

"  I  do  not  grieve,  aunt." 

"  I  know  very  well,  qhild,  but  one  does  it  without 
wishing.  When  the  doctor  comes  to-morrow  he  shall 
give  you  something  to  make  you  sleep;  I  have  spoken 
to  Moritz  already.  Or  do  you  think  I  do  not  notice 
how  late  into  the  night  you  read  ?  I  hear  every  page 
turned.  Good-night,  my  darling  child,  go  to  sleep. 
Formerly,  I  could  always  sit  up  late,  but  now " 


X. 

WEEKS  had  passed;  it  was  spring.  For  a  long  time  a 
hateful  east  wind  had  blown,  chilling  to  the  bones  those 
whom  the  clear  blue  sky  and  golden  sunlight  enticed 
out  of  doors,  so  that  they  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
houses  in  disgust,  and  the  flowers  regretted  that  they 
had  ventured  out  so  prematurely.  But  now  a  warm, 
fragrant  spring  breeze  blew,  gray  clouds  chased  each 
other  across  the  sky,  and  sunshine  and  rain  came  by 
turns.  The  buds  were  bursting  on  all  the  bushes,  in 
the  castle  garden  the  lawn  was  blue  with  violets,  and 
in  the  church-yard  blue  crocuses  bloomed  on  Elsa's 
mother's  grave. 

She  had  just  hung  a  wreath  upon  the  cross  which 
bore  the  name  of  the  dead  ;  to-day  was  the  anniversary 
of  her  mother's  death,  and  was  also  her  birthday,  a 
thorn  in  the  girl's  wreath  of  life,  a  dark  spot  which  so 
closely  allied  her  existence  to  the  dead.  For  a  long 
time  she  sat  on  the  stone  coping  which  surrounded  the 
grave,  and  her  hands  mechanically  arranged  the  leaves 
of  the  wreath,  while  her  eyes  gazed  over  all  the  crosses 
and  stones  into  space. 


138  A  Poor  Girl. 

Her  life  had  now  become  an  eternal  wordless  conflict 
with  herself,  with  every  one  else;  she  no  longer  pos- 
sessed any  one  in  whom  she  could  confide.  All  had 
taken  part  against  her,  even  Moritz.  She  felt  it ;  Moritz 
had  something  against  her,  he  avoided  her,  and  Frieda 
was  so  terribly  heartless. 

"  She  has  never  had  a  trouble  in  her  life,"  said  Aunt 
Ratenow  ;  "  she  is  a  spoiled  child,  and  one  should  not 
pay  much  attention  to  them,  as  children  can  never 
really  insult  grown  people." 

But  Aunt  Lott  had  suddenly  gone  to  Z .  One  day 

she  had  come  out  of  Aunt  Ratenow's  room  with  tearful 
eyes,  and  had  packed  her  trunk.  The  stern  cousin  had 
said  that  she  thought  it  more  practical  this  year  for  Lott 
to  spend  the  summer  at  home,  so  Lott  was  now  passing 
her  prescribed  eight  weeks  in  the  cloister.  For  what 
Aunt  Ratenow  commanded  must  be  done. 

Frieda's  sister  Lili  was  visiting  h'er.  She  was  a  little 
brunette,  not  as  pretty  as  her  sister,  but  with  such  a 
merry  laugh,  and  she  knew  how  to  turn  the  whole  house 
topsy-turvy  even  better  than  Frieda. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  declared  that  she  was  a  new-fash- 
ioned feather-head,  and  it  was  well  that  she  and  Annie 
Cramm  were  friends,  they  were  quite  suited  to  each 
other.  But  in  spite  of  her  many  social  distractions, 
Miss  Lili  always  appeared  at  "  dear,  charming"  Ma- 
dame von  Ratenow's  tea-table,  she  was  so  fond  of  old 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  she  should  never  fall  in  love 
with  a  young  man.  She  preferred  men  in  the  fifties, 


A  Poor  Girl.  139 

and  how  interesting  for  a  young  woman  to  have  an  old 
husband  !  It  was  very  droll  to  hear  her  talk  thus;  and 
against  her  will  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  must  smile. 

"  But  he  must  have  a  great  deal  of  money,  eh,  Lili  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  dearest,  best  of  aunts,  either  a  great 
deal  of  money,  or  he  must  at  least  be  an  Excellency, 
general,  or  something  similar." 

And  the  Bennewitzer  came  so  very  often  now,  and 
Aunt  Ratenow  was  more  charming  than  ever  to  him. 
"  Elsa,  his  is  a  fine  character."  And  Frieda  always  had 
a  sweet  smile  for  him,  and  Lili  raised  her  long  lashes  so 
slowly  as  she  talked  to  him.  There  was  a  perfect  race 
when  his  elegant  carriage  rolled  into  the  yard.  Aunt 
Ratenpw  met  him  with  great  dignity  in  the  hall.  Frieda 
and  Lili  stood  on  the  stairs,  and  poor  Mr.  von  Hegebach 
was  seriously  embarrassed  because  he  did  not  know 
whether  to  enter  Frieda's  cosey  boudoir  or  Aunt  Rate- 
now's  sober  room  ;  but  in  any  case,  let  him  turn  where 
he  would,  he  drew  the  whole  company  after  him. 

And  Elsa  apparently  stood  without  this  circle,  and 
yet  knew  unmistakably  that  she  became  more  and  more 
the  central  point.  Again  and  again  she  tried  to  win 
back  every  inch  of  ground  forced  from  her,  uncon- 
sciously her  eyes  rested  piteously  upon  her  aunt's  stern 
face  ;  her  heart  started  back  in  affright  at  the  gaze  of  a 
man's  two  dark  eyes,  as  day  by  day  she  lost  more  and 
more  of  her  firm  footing. 

This  morning,  her  birthday,  a  beautiful  bouquet  had 
stood  on  the  table  for  her  in  Aunt  Ratenow's  room,  and 


140 


A  Poor  Girl. 


the  card  attached  bore  the  giver's  name.  A  letter  from 
Aunt  Lott,  dear  old  Aunt  Lott,  was  also  there.  Moritz 
had  pressed  her  hand  and  brought  her  a  pretty  portfolio 
of  Russia  leather,  and  then  the  children  had  clung  to 
her  joyously.  Lili  and  Frieda  also  had  appeared,  the 
latter  with  all  sorts  of  ribbons,  scarfs,  and  "  such  non- 


sense,"  as  Aunt  Ratenow  called  it;  and  one  pale-blue 
sash  the  old  lady  had  returned  to  her,  with  the  remark 
that  that  had  probably  only  been  given  with  the  other 
things  by  accident,  and  belonged  to  Frieda's  toilet- 
table,  as  the  pins  still  sticking  in  it  proved. 


A  Poor  Girl.  141 

But  Elsa  was  so  weary,  it  was  quite  indifferent  to  her 
if  Frieda  wished  to  pass  off  old  things  upon  her;  she 
was  only  a  poor  girl,  why  should  she  not  wear  cast-off 
sashes  ?  She  had  no  money  for  these  "  sweet  trifles  of 
life,"  as  Moritz  loved  to  call  his  beautiful  wife's  costly 
frippery  ;  it  was  only  natural  in  Frieda,  she  did  not 
mean  unkindly.  Ah,  if  they  had  demanded  nothing 
more  of  her ! 

Aunt  Ratenow  had  told  her  this  morning  of  the  day 
of  her  birth,  and  how  sad  it  had  been,  how  since  that 
time  her  father  had  become  a  gloomy,  lonely  man;  and 
she  had  told  him  that  the  child  would  yet  be  a  blessing 
to  him,  a  great  blessing. 

"  And  that  is  in  your  power,  Elsa,"  she  had  added. 

The  young  girl  rose  from  her  seat  in  the  quiet  ceme- 
tery, the  icy,  horrible  feeling  had  again  come  over  her. 
Hastily  she  walked  along  the  path  ;  she  did  not  see  .how 
brightly  the  sun  shone,  how  its  rays  sparkled  in  the  dew- 
drops  which  clung  to  the  tender  young  leaves  ;  every- 
where was  spring— young,  green,  and  the  gay  twitter 
of  birds  ;  a  slender  pale-green  branch  even  rested  over 
the  venerable  top  of  the  gateway  tower. 

Her  cheeks  were  flushed  feverishly  when  she  entered 
her  father's  room.  She  would  turn  to  him  ;  he  hated 
the  Bennewitzer ;  he  would  permit  her  to  seek  refuge 
with  him,  if —  The  old  man  had  both  windows 
opened  wide,  the  newspapers  lay  on  the  table  before 
him,  and  near  the  cold  pipe  stood  a  half-emptied  wine- 
rlass. 


142  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Papa,  are  you  not  well  ? "  asked  Elsa. 

"  Oh,  yes,  child !  Only  my  cough  and  lack  of 
breath — now  it  is  much  better,  you  can  shut  the 
window  again.  I  can  no  longer  bear  excitement,  and 
to-day — "  He  held  out  his  hand,  and  for  a  moment 
clasped  the  slender  hand  firmly  in  his. 

"  Draw  the  curtains  together,  the  sun  shines  in  here 
so  glaringly,  Elsa  ;  and  then — perhaps  it  will  please  you 
— that  little  chest  yonder  your  mother  always  had  on 
her  sewing-table,  and  she  kept  all  the  little  sacques  and 
caps  which  she  made  for  you  in  it.  I  hunted  it  up, 
Elsa  ;  take  it  with  you.  It  was  so  pleasant  when  she 
sat  before  it,  it  was  like  a  bright  spot  in  my  life,  it  all 
comes  back  to  me  on  such  days.  One  day  she  went 
out,  it  was  Christmas  time,  and  then  afterward,  when 
she  sat  at  her  sewing- table  again,  her  brown  eyes  looked 
at  me  so  happily.  '  Hegebach,  I  saw  such  a  lovely  rock- 
ing-horse at  Lehmann,  the  saddler's ! '  Yes,  Elsa,  if  I 
could  have  bought  you  a  rocking-horse  all  would  have 
been  different !  " 

The  girl  lowered  her  eyes.     Still  the  same  refrain  ! 

"And  then,  child — "  he  pushed  the  little  mahogany 
chest  with  the  simple  silver  plate  on  the  top  and  the 
dead  mother's  name  upon  it — "  then,  I  have  withdrawn 
the  suit  against  the  Bennewitzer." 

"  Papa  !  "     It  sounded  like  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Yes,  child.  Should  I  not  ?  You  have  often  told 
me  that  I  had  no  right  to  bring  it." 

"  Yes,  papa  ;  forgive  me."    She  spoke  hopelessly. 


A  Poor  Girl.  143 

"  And  now  he  wishes  to  be  reconciled  to  me,  Elsa  ; 
it  was  to  be  a  surprise  for  you,  child  ;  they  are  coming 
for  me  to-day  with  the  carriage,  we  are  to  drive  there 
together — to  Madame  Ratenow's,  I  mean  ;  but  I  do  not 
know,  Elsa,  whether  it  can  be.  I  can  bear  no  excite- 
ment, and  then  it  is  such  an  old  antipathy,  it  is  not  too 
easy.  I  know  very  well  that  I  must  do  it  for  your  sake, 
but " 

"  Papa !  In  Heaven's  name  not  for  my  sake  !  " 
begged  the  girl,  white  to  her  very  lips.  "  Who  told 
you  that  ? " 

u  The  Ratenow,  child  ;  and  she  is  right,  yes,  she  is 
right  !  " 

Elsa  sprang  up  from  her  chair ;  she  tried  to  speak. 

"Do  not  be  vexed,  Elsa,  that  I  have  betrayed  it,  for 
I  am  so  glad.  Child,  it  is  a  dreadful  feeling  for  a 
father  to  be  forced  to  leave  his  child  utterly  alone  in 
the  world." 

"  Dear,  dear  papa  !  "  Her  pale  face  bent  down  to 
him.  "  I  am  not  afraid,  certainly  not ;  and  you  are 
alive  and  will  live  a  long  time  yet,  and  I  may  stay 
with  you,  papa.  I  came  here  to  make  this  request, 
papa." 

"  Do  not  make  me  weak,  Elsa  !  This  has  all  had 
such  an  effect  upon  me,  and  Susan  is  disagreeable  and 
noisy,  I — "  He  suddenly  groaned  and  clutched  at  his 
breast.  "  This  stupid  oppression — it  is  well  that  it  has 
all  come  about  so  for  you,  Elsa  !  You  have  no  idea  of 
how  solitary,  cold  and  dreadful  life  can  be,  or  else  you 


144  A  Poor  Girl. 

would  not  be  so  courageous.  Life  as  yet  is  all  roses  for 
you." 

She  was  silent  as  if  petrified  ;  she  knew  now  that  she 
had  no  one  who  understood  her.  At  this  moment 
Susan  rushed  in  in  the  greatest  excitement.  The  lady 
from  the  castle  and  the  Bennewitzer  gentleman  were 
coming  upstairs. 

So  they  had  come.  The  old  man  in  the  arm-chair 
changed  color.  "  Go  into  the  next  room,  Elsa,  you 
need  not  see  how — 

She  went  into  the  room  which  had  once  been  her 
mother's,  and  stood  before  Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 

"  We  have  come  here,  Elsa  ;  at  home  the  very  walls 
have  ears  now  ;  Lili  is  every  where,  and  she  need  not  hear 
everything.  I  do  not  know  how  that  witch  can  pursue 
Hegebach  as  she  does  ;  it  is  probably  the  fashion  now 
to  pay  court  to  men."  And  she  seated  herself  in  her 
heavy  silk  mantle  in  the  chair  by  the  window,  and  un- 
tied her  bonnet-strings. 

"  Good  mercy,  how  hot  old  Susan  keeps  this  house  !  " 
she  then  added. 

Yes,  it  was  suffocating  here,  so  thought  the  pale  girl 
yonder,  panting  for  breath.  In  the  other  room  was 
heard  the  Bennewitzer's  sonorous  voice,  so  mild,  so 
conciliating ;  and  the  old  lady  by  the  window  played 
calmly  with  her  large,  well-kept  hands.  Her  face  wore 
an  expression  of  the  utmost  satisfaction. 

"  Listen,  Elsa,"  said  she  :  "  nineteen  years  ago  you 
lay  in  this  sofa  corner  and  cried  piteously.  Yes,  if  one 


A  Poor  Girl.  145 

could  know  everything  beforehand  I  should  not  have 
taken  you  in  my  arms  with  such  a  heavy  heart." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  aunt  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  girl,  this  is  a  strange  world  ;  the  dear  God 
has  his  own  ways,  but  it  all  comes  about.  What  do  I 
mean  ?  Oh,  nonsense,  Elsa  ;  you  are  no  ordinary  girl 
who  simpers  up  to  the  very  last.  I  know  that  that 
question  was  unnecessary,  because  secretly  you  can 
answer  it  very  accurately.  And  when  you  do  so  with 
your  clear  common-sense  you  should  say,  '  Thank 
God  !  old  Aunt  Ratenow  was,  to  be  sure,  always  very 
good  to  me,  but  still  I  had  to  suit  myself  to  all  kinds 
of  moods,  it  was  merely  an  assistance  in  time  of  need  ; 
and  my  old  father  can  now  have  a  few  happy,  un- 
troubled days  ! '  Eh,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Aunt,  I  beg  you  !  "  gasped  the  young  girl. 

"  And  then,  child,  he  is  so  good,  so  very  good  ;  he  is 
really  a  charming  man  !  I  will  confess  to  you,  Elsa, 
when  I  heard — you  were  still  at  school  then — that  he 
had  lost  his  sons,  I  thought  at  once,  he  will  marry 
again,  and  then  I  thought  it  would  be  a  guidance  of  the 
dear  God  if  you  should  please  him,  Elsa.  I  saw  it 
coming  gradually  with  sincere  joy,  and — now  he  is  in 
there,  Elsa,  and  asks  your  father's  consent.  Come  here, 
child,  close  to  me.  Do  you  think  I  did  not  notice 
the  little  affair  with  your  handsome  young  Lieuten- 
ant ?  Oh,  Elsa,  I  too  have  been  young.  Lieutenants, 
child,  are  very  nice  for  you  girls  to  dance  with,  but 
in  marriage  more  is  needed  than  two  bright  eyes  and 
10 


146 


A  Poor  Girl. 


shining  epaulettes  !     Elsa,   how  can   any  one  look  so 
rigid  ?     Why,  Elsa  !  " 

The  girl   had    sunk  down    and    raised    her   clasped 
hands. 


"  Aunt,  aunt,  have  pity  !  "  she  sobbed  with  tearless 
eyes.  "  I  will  do  everything — I  will — I  cannot !  " 

"  Merciful  heavens  !  "  She  seized  the  girl  around  the 
waist  and  raised  her.  "  Elsa,  control  yourself  !  More  is 


A  Poor  Girl.  147 

at  stake  than  a  girlish  fancy.  Refrain  from  that  '  I 
cannot  !  '  my  child.  Life  is  earnest,  very  earnest,  one 
cannot  look  at  it  through  colored  glasses,  the  welfare  of 
a  whole  life  is  involved.  This  is  no  leap  into  a  bed  of 
roses,  it  should  be  a  serious  step,  taken  with  honest  will 
and  firm  resolve.  I  should  have  fared  but  ill,  my  child, 
had  I  not  had  a  wise  father.  Do  you  think  I  would 
have  chosen  Frederick  Ratenow  ?  No,  Elsa.  I  was 
head  over  ears  in  love  with  a  very,  very  poor  wretch  of 
a  candidate  who  was  my  brother's  tutor.  I  was  a  bold 
thing,  and  told  my  father  so  when  Ratenow  asked  for 
my  hand.  Gracious,  child,  you  should  have  seen  ! 
Before  I  could  turn  around,  the  candidate  was  out  of 
the  house  and  Ratenow's  ring  was  on  my  finger.  And 
what  would  you  have  ?  It  is  so  with  every  princess  ! 
No,  no,  Elsa  ;  be  sensible." 

She  stroked  the  blonde  head  which  rested  so  quietly 
on  her  breast.  "  You  will  be  sensible,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  aunt  !  Give  me  time,  I  implore  you  !  " 
begged  the  trembling  girl.  "  I  must  first  become 
calmer — you  must  grant  me  this,  you  must  !  " 

She  spoke  the  last  passionately.  The  old  lady  saw 
that  she  could  press  the  excited  girl  no  more. 

"  Listen,  child  ;  take  a  walk,  there  is  time  before 
dinner."  She  went  and  fetched  the  girl's  hat  and 
cloak.  "  Go,  my  girl,  and  may  God  bless  you." 

She  went,  she  fairly  ran.  Outside  at  least  she  could 
breathe  fresh  air,  and  before  her  lay  the  broad  land. 
She  yet  cherished  one  hope,  she  yet  felt  strong  enough 


148  A  Poor  Girl. 

to  defend  it  against  the  whole  world.  She  thought  of 
the  quiet  little  village  in  Thuringia,  the  pretty  little 
church,  and  the  people  who  lived  so  peacefully  together. 
She  saw  Sister  Beata's  good  face  under  the  cap  of  their 
order — there  was  one  spot  where  the  storms  of  life  did 
not  reach. 

She  was  at  home  before  she  realized  it ;  she  was  glad 
when  the  servant  told  her  that  the  ladies  were  all  out. 
She  started  upstairs,  then  suddenly  turned. 

"  Where  is  the  Baron  ?  " 

"  In  his  room,  Miss." 

She  came  down-stairs  again  and  knocked  at  his  door. 

"  Come  in." 

"  Moritz,  may  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Why,  Elsa,  of  course  !  " 

"  I  wished  to  ask  you  something,  Moritz." 

"  Certainly,  Elsa.  But  come,  we  will  go  out  in  the 
garden." 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise  ;  he  acted  so  strangely, 
as  if  embarrassed. 

"  As  you  will,  Moritz." 

They  went  into  the  garden,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  sunny  central  path.  There  was  a  delightful  per- 
fume of  violets  in  the  air,  and  above  them  the  birds 
sang  sweetly  ;  it  was  a  lovely  spot,  this  old  castle  garden. 

Elsa  suddenly  raised  her  green  fan  to  her  eyes. 

"  Moritz,"  she  began,  "  have  I  offended  you  in  any 
way  ? " 

"  No,  my  dear  child,"  he  replied  gently. 


A  Poor  Girl.  149 

"  I  thought  I  must  have,  you  have  been  so  changed 
to  me  for  some  time." 

He  watched  her  as  she  walked  beside  him  with  low- 
ered eyes.  What  had  become  of  the  fresh,  blooming 
girl? 

"  Moritz  !  "  It  was  the  old,  childish  tone.  "  Must 
I  do  what  they  all  wish,  must  I  ?  " 

"  Must  ?  No,  Elsa,  but  perhaps  it  would  be  well  for 
you  to  do  so." 

"  I  cannot,  Moritz." 

"  Elsa!  "  He  stood  still  and  took  her  hand.  "  Think 
no  more  of  Bernardi,"  said  he,  in  his  kindly  way ;  "  do 
not  wait  for  him.  Listen,  we  men  forget  anything  of 
that  kind.  You  must  not  fancy  that  he  torments  him- 
self as  you  do,  child,  you  know  nothing  of  life  as  yet." 

She  looked  at  him  again  with  her  mournful  eyes,  and 
a  slight  flush  rose  to  her  pale  face. 

"  I  often  think  of  him,  Moritz,  often,  although  against 
my  will,  but  from  the  first  moment  I  have  hoped  no 
longer.  I  know  only  too  well  that  a  chasm,  a  yawning 
chasm,  lies  between  us.  I  only  wonder  whether — but 
you  probably  do  not  understand  me,  Moritz.  I  have 
not  a  particle  of  love  for  my  cousin,  not  a  particle — 
such  as  one  should  have  for — for " 

She  stammered,  broke  off,  and  stood  before  him, 
blushing  deeply,  and  slowly  great  tears  rolled  from 
beneath  her  lowered  lashes. 

He  did  understand  her,  but  what  should  he  say  ? 
What  was  to  become  of  her  ?  He  could  offer  her  a 


A  Poor  Girl. 


home  no  longer  if  she  refused  the  Bennewitzer.  His 
mother  would  be  bitterly  angry  with  her,  and  Frieda  ? 
His  domestic  happiness  was  at  stake  ;  it  sounded  ridic- 


ulous, but  the  little  woman  was  jealous,  really  and  truly 
jealous,  and  she  showed  it  at  every  opportunity.  Elsa, 
the  innocent  child,  suspected  nothing  of  this,  and  she 
should  not  learn  of  it. 


A  Poor  Girl.  151 

He  was  still  silent. 

"  Elsa,"  he  said  at  length — and  he  felt  how  common- 
place his  words  were — "  do  not  make  your  life  so  fear- 
fully hard.  Listen —  "  and  he  again  began  to  walk  up 
and  down,  his  hands  behind  his  back — "  as  we  grow 
older  and  calmer,  in  later  life,  we  think  so  differently 
of  love  affairs  and  marriages  of  affection — what  was  I 
going  to  say  ? — Elsa,  dear,  I  really  would  consider  the 
matter." 

She  did  not  answer  and  dried  her  tears.  "  Well  then, 
Moritz,  I  beg  you  one  favor  at  least,  ask  Aunt  Rate- 
now  not  to  desire  my  decision  to-day,  not  to-day.  And 
you,  Moritz,  forgive  me  for  asking  this  of  you." 

She  turned  and  went  back  to  the  house.  She  took 
the  way  through  the  hall ;  she  had  heard  Frieda's  voice 
in  the  garden-room  and  a  waltz  being  played.  Lili,  as 
was  her  wont,  played  a  few  bars,  only  immediately  after 
to  begin  something  else.  Elsa  reached  her  little  room 
unobserved,  and  seated  herself  by  the  window.  Now 
she  had  no  friend  here,  she  was  alone,  they  all  were 
angry  with  her  because  she  scorned  an  assured  future,  a 
comfortable  existence,  the  envied  lot  of  a  wealthy  young 
wife,  for  the  one  reason  which  the  world  thinks  so  absurd, 
but  which  is  so  sacredly  serious  for  a  pure  womanly 
heart.  But  papa,  poor  lonely  old  papa,  said  an  inner 
voice,  the  only  one  which  rose  in  contradiction  to  her 
thoughts.  "  No,"  said  she  aloud,  "  I  do  not  love  him, 
I  deceive  him  and  myself."  She  did  not  know  the  outer 
world  with  its  thorny  paths,  which  a  solitary  girl  must 


152  A  Poor  Girl. 

follow,  but  it  could  not  be  as  dreadful  as  if  she — 
She  sprang  up  and  a  nervous  shudder  overcame  her. 
Hastily  she  seized  a  book  and  turned  over  the  pages. 
Then  her  eyes  rested  upon  a  poem  : 

"  The  mother  said,  '  My  Elsa  dear, 

You  must  no  longer  tarry. 
'Tis  possible  e'en  without  love 

Quite  happily  to  marry. 
And  many  a  one  who  marries  thus, 

Merely  for  home  or  splendor, 
Yet  thinks  herself  a  happy  wife 

Without  this  love  so  tender.'  " 

She  smiled  painfully  and  closed  the  book;  resting  her 
head  on  her  clasped  hands,  she  wept  for  the  first  time 
in  many  a  long  day  like  a  child — like  a  poor,  deserted 
child.  Hours  passed,  twilight  fell,  and  the  moon's 
pale  light  shone  into  the  young  girl's  room,  but  still 
she  sat  there  in  the  same  position. 

Music  sounded  from  the  drawing-room  ;  Miss  Lili 
was  playing  the  piano  to  pass  the  time.  The  others 
stayed  so  very  long  in  Aunt  Ratenow's  room,  and  the 
old  lady  even  requested  in  the  politest  manner  that 
Miss  Lili  would  not  come  with  the  others.  It  was  un- 
bearably tiresome  to-day.  Even  the  dinner  with  the 
Bennewitzer,  who  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word  and 
merely  continually  stroked  his  dark  beard,  which  was 
a  frequent  gesture  of  his,  and  before  that  the  family 
scene  at  the  Cramms',  Annie  as  a  happy  fiancee,  stiff 
as  a  wax-doll,  and  beside  her  Lieutenant  von  Rost, 


A  Poor  Girl.  153 

who  looked  as  utterly  indifferent  as  though  the  whole 
affair  really  did  not  concern  him  in  the  slightest. 
The  only  one  really  affected  was  Mamma  Cramm, 
for  papa's  mood  seemed  rather  the  result  of  the 
silver-necked  bottles  in  the  wine-cooler  than  delight 
over  his  son-in-law.  As  soon  as  her  first  astonishment 
was  over,  Lili  had  at  once  taken  leave  of  the  family 
group,  having  received  permission  to  tell  the  happy 
news  everywhere. 

Outside,  in  the  hall,  she  had  asked  in  truly  military 
style  :  "Annie,  when  did  the  bomb  burst  ?  Since  when 
has  this  been  going  on  ?  No  one  has  noticed  anything 
of  it  until  now." 

And  Annie  had  blushed.  "  Oh,  we  have  been  fond 
of  each  other  for  a  long  time,  but  papa  would  never 
hear  of  it." 

"  How  dreadful  !  "  Lili  had  suppressed  her  laughter 
with  difficulty.  "  But  now  ?  " 

u  Ah,  Lili,  I  should  have  died  without  him." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  cried  the  rogue  in  surprise.  "Ah, 
well,  I  will  no  longer  disturb  you.  Tell  me,  Annie,  his 
name  is  von  Rost,  is  it  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  von  Rost."     The  answer  was  somewhat  short. 

"  Good-by,  Annie  !  "  She  had  run  away,  suppressing 
a  giggle  with  great  difficulty,  to  tell  the  great  news  to 
the  household  at  dinner,  and  found  only  displeased 
faces,  and  except  Frieda  no  one  had  taken  the  slightest 
interest  in  the  matter. 


XL 


AFTER  dinner,  the  Bennewitzer  had  at  once  taken 
leave  ;  the  sisters  had  gone  to  the  window  to  look  after 
the  handsome  carriage,  and  Lili  yawned  heartily,  then 
hummed  a  few  bars  from  Der  Freischutz  : 

"  Though  he's  old,  yet  he  suits  me; 
His  many  wrinkles  I'll  not  see." 

And  had  finished  with,  "  Brr,  Frieda  !  I  think  I  will 
soon  return  home." 

"  Yes.     I  cannot  blame  you." 

The  young  wife  was  cross,  and  had  buried  her  woes 
in  a  novel  by  Heyse.  Moritz  had  gone  to  his  mother, 
finally  Frieda  also. 

"  Listen,  Lili,"  she  had  said.  "  All  is  not  right  up- 
stairs. I  am  going  to  investigate."  The  young  wife 
had  been  gone  an  eternity  already,  and  Lili  was  greatly 
bored ;  even  the  pale  Elsa  did  not  come  to  take  pity  on 
her. 

It  was  best  that  she  should  go  home  ;  there  at  least 
she  could  amuse  herself  with  the  master  of  hounds  of 
the  P — —  court  ;  he  was  far  less  tiresome  than  the  Ben- 


A  Poor  Girl.  155 

newitzer.  Oh,  well,  what  was  to  be  done  with  such 
heroes  as  the  Bennewitzer  and  Moritz,  the  great  good- 
natured  bear — and  of  whom  Frieda  was  so  frighfully 
jealous — good  heavens  ! 

Frieda  had  first  listened  at  the  door,  and  then  gone 
in. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  calm  as  ever,  sat  in  her  chair 
by  the  window  ;  the  cup,  with  her  coat  of  arms  upon 
it,  stood  beside  her  as  usual,  and  her  hands  held  her 
knitting.  Moritz  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in 
great  strides  ;  he  looked  excited. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  the  beautiful  little  woman.  "Moritz 
is  like  a  wild  animal.  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  quite  of  mamma's  opinion,  Frieda." 

"  Indeed,"  said  his  wife  ironically.  "  That  is  cer- 
tainly unusual." 

"And  I  assert,"  declared  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  "that 
one  must  be  firm  ;  there  are  many  people  who  fight 
against  their  happiness  as  a  sick  child  against  medicine." 

"  And  I  assert,  mother,  that  it  is  not  the  custom  with 
us  to  sell  a  woman,"  he  burst  out.  And  his  honest,  kind 
face  flushed  with  anger.  "  She  has  a  right  to  decide  for 
herself  in  such  matters.  What  will  become  of  respect- 
ability, morality,  and  womanliness  if  such  horrible  prin- 
ciples, which,  alas  !  are  the  order  of  the  day,  become 
common  ?  For  my  part,  I  despise  a  girl  who  marries 
merely  for  the  sake  of  a  home  !  "  He  stood  before  his 
mother  with  sparkling  eyes. 

The  old  lady  remained  perfectly  calm.     Moritz  had 


156  A  Poor  Girl. 

always  been  a  bit  of  an  enthusiast,  he  got  that  from  his 
father,  and  the  "  boy  "  did  not  know  what  life  meant 
for  an  unprotected  poor  girl. 

"  Of  course  I  cannot  drag  her  to  the  church,  and 
Hegebach  is  not  the  man  to  beg  for  a  wife,"  was  the 
reply.  "  What  you  say,  my  boy,  sounds  very  pretty,  if 
one  possesses  the  necessary  means.  You  know  yourself 
that  theory  and  practice  are  very  different  things.  I 
have  spoken  on  this  subject  often  enough  in  these  days. 
I  shall  say  no  more.  I  meant  well.  My  grandmother 
used  to  say,  '  Love — love  is  mostly  imagination  !  '  I 
have  known  plenty  of  girls  who  have  been  in  despair 
at  not  being  permitted  to  marry  their  first  love,  only 
to  find  afterward  with  the  second  that  he  was  really 
the  true,  the  only  love.  You  are  absurd,  Moritz  ! 
Such  views  are  only  suited  to  a  love-sick  girl,  or  a 
half-cracked  old  maid." 

"  It  may  be,"  he  replied  roughly.  "  But  I  will  not 
believe  that  many  think  as  you  do." 

He  had  paused  before  Frieda  and  looked  down  at 
her  with  radiant  eyes. 

"  Frieda,  speak  a  word  in  honor  of  your  sex." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  she  means."  The  little  woman 
turned  her  beautiful  head  aside  as  if  in  embarrassment. 

"  Hegebach  to-day  asked  for  Elsa's  hand,  and 
she " 

"  For  Elsa  ?"  the  astonished  eyes  glanced  from  her 
husband  to  the  busily  knitting  mother-in-law.  "  In- 
deed !  "  and  she  laughed  loudly. 


A  Poor  Girl.  157 

Involuntarily  he  started.  What  did  this  convulsive 
laugh,  which  was  almost  a  sob,  mean  ?  Great  tears  were 
running  down  the  pale  cheeks. 

"  Of  course  you  dissuaded  her  from  accepting, 
Moritz,"  said  she  between  her  laughter. 

"  Dissuaded  ?  No,  Frieda;  on  the  contrary,  I  tried 
to  explain  to  her  the  necessity  of  this  step,  but  I  was 
nevertheless  sorry  to  do  so." 

"  Of  course  !  "  The  young  wife  no  longer  laughed. 
"  I  could  not  imagine  the  castle  without  Elsa  von 
Hegebach,  it  would  be  impossible." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  interposed  the  old 
lady. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  dear  mamma.  Moritz  surely  under- 
stood me." 

"  Unfortunately  no,  Frieda,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"  But  I  do."  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  had  risen,  and  now 
stood  before  her  daughter-in-law.  "  I  have  been  very 
considerate  of  you,  my  child,  and  of  your  whims  and  ca- 
prices, with  which  you  tyrannize  over  the  whole  house, 
because  I  believed  that  you  sincerely  loved  your  hus- 
band. That  he  let  you  torment  him  was  his  affair  ;  he 
wished  nothing  better.  But  when  you  dare  " — she  raised 
her  voice  loudly — "  to  accuse  him,  even  in  thought,  of 
dishonor,  when  you  dare  to  attack  the  reputation  of  the 
girl  who  has  grown  up  under  my  roof — Frieda,  by  Hea- 
ven, I  forget  that  you  are  the  wife  of  my  only  son,  the 
mother  of  his  children  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Moritz,  gently  drawing  down  the  old 


158  A  Poor  Girl. 

lady's  threateningly  uplifted  hand.  "  Frieda  does  not 
know  what  she  is  saying  ;  she  means  differently." 

The  young  wife  remained  in  her  chair,  pale  as  a 
corpse ;  her  face  expressed  a  passionate  defiance. 

"  No,"  she  cried,  springing  up,  "  I  do  not  mean  dif- 
ferently !  I  know  what  I  have  said.  Since  Elsa  von 
Hegebach  came  to  this  house  he  has  been  a  different 
man,  he  has  eyes  and  attention  for  her  alone  ;  I  must 
certainly  know  it  better  than  you  and  the  others." 

"  Silence  !"  commanded  the  old  lady  so  calmly  and 
with  such  dignity  that  the  beautiful  mouth  involuntarily 
closed.  "  What  did  I  tell  you,  Moritz,"  she  turned  to 
her  son,  "  when  you  courted  your  wife  ?  Do  not  weary 
of  controlling  her,  or  else  she  will  get  beyond  control. 
Now  you  are  reaping  the  harvest  of  your  boundless 
indulgence,  your  foolishness.  There  are  women  and 
children  for  whom  kindness  is  poison — and  this  was  a 
love  match  !  Mine  was  not,  but  I  respected  your  father 
and  should  never  have  dared  to  insult  him.  Now  it 
is  only  necessary  for  you  to  beg  her  forgiveness,  my 
boy,  and  the  chapter  of  a  modern  conjugal  romance  is 
complete." 

*'  You  know  very  well,  mother,  that  I  shall  not  do 
that,"  he  replied  gloomily. 

But  the  old  lady  only  half  heard  it ;  she  had  gone 
into  her  bedroom  and  bolted  the  door  behind  her. 

"  Frieda,"  said  he  sadly,  turning  toward  her,  "  your 
imagination  has  misled  you  fearfully ;  God  knows  you 
could  not  pain  me  more." 


A  Poor  Girl.  159 

She  still  stood  there  pulling  at  her  delicate  handker- 
chief, her  blue  eyes  shining  with  tears. 

"  Frieda,  go  back  to  your  room  and  first  grow  calm," 
he  pleaded,  "  then  let  us  speak  together  quietly.  My 
God  !  how  could  you  fancy  such  a  thing  ?" 

He  was  pale  ;  she  must  see  that  she  had  wounded 
the  great  faithful  man  to  the  heart,  but  she  would  not 
see  it.  She  shook  off  his  hand  and  left  the  room  hastily  ; 
she  was  too  deeply  insulted,  she  was  too  unhappy  a 
wife — oh 

"  Lili,"  she  sobbed  in  her  boudoir,  falling  upon  her 
sister's  neck,  "  it  is  too  terrible  when,  with  all  one's 
other  misery,  one  has  such  a  mother-in-law  !  Old  and 
big  as  Moritz  is,  he,  nevertheless,  is  tied  to  her  apron- 
strings  like  a  child,  and  does  not  once  take  my  part 
when  she  treats  me  like  a  school-girl.  But  why  should 
he  ?  He  loves  me  no  longer !  " 

It  was  a  wretched  day  which  neared  its.  close,  and 
a  wretched  evening  followed  it.  Frieda  had  shut  her- 
self into  her  room  and  would  not  see  Moritz  ;  Lili  told 
him  this  and  looked  at  her  brother-in-law  as  though  he 
were  a  criminal  of  the  worst  kind.  The  children  cried 
in  their  room,  and  when  he  wished  to  calm  them  they 
were  frightened  by  his  gloomy  face.  He  then  went  out 
doors  ;  it  was  fairly  suffocating  in  the  house,  he  thought. 
Finally  he  walked  down  the  driveway  in  the  fragrant 
spring  evening,  and  aimlessly  strolled  on  through  the 
city  gate.  The  streets  were  very  gay,  the  children 
played  before  the  doors,  and  the  neighbors  gossiped 


160  A  Poor  Girl. 

with  each  other,  while  the  moonlight  made  it  almost 
bright  as  day. 

"  Hallo,  my  dear  Ratenow  !  "  cried  a  voice,  and 
some  one  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  What  brings 
you  here  ?  If  you  seek  company,  come  to  the  Casino. 
Rost  is  celebrating  his  betrothal." 

Captain  von  P stood  before  him.  Moritz  was 

not  in  the  mood,  he  did  not  care  to  go  ;  he  excused 
himself,  saying  he  was  not  in  evening  dress,  but  finally 
went. 

In  the  elegant  dining-room  of  the  officers'  club  they 
were  very  gay  when  the  men  entered.  The  happy 
betrothed  seemed  the  quietest  of  them  all,  except  the 
Bennewitzer  who  smoked  his  cigar  apathetically. 

"  What  the  devil !  "  said  Moritz,  with  difficulty  taking 
a  jesting  tone.  "  You  here,  Mr.  von  Hegebach  ?  How 
comes  Saul  among  the  prophets  ? " 

"  I  was  captured,  as  I  suppose  you  were,  dear  Rate- 
now,"  he  replied,  drawing  up  a  chair  for  Moritz.  "I 
did  not  care  to  drive  home  yet ;  you  know,  there  are 
days  in  life  when  one  cannot  rest." 

Moritz  was  silent  ;  he  knew  very  well  what  that 
meant,  he  himself  had  asked  Hegebach  early  this  morn- 
ing to  wait  until  to-morrow.  Elsa  was  so  surprised  ;  his 
offer  had  come  upon  her  so  suddenly  ;  with  everything 
else  which  one  is  accustomed  to  say  when  a  respite  is 
to  be  obtained. 

They  had  already  proceeded  from  punch  to  cham- 
pagne ;  Rost  was  very  lavish  this  evening,  he  had  such 


A  Poor  Girl.  161 

a  "  monstrously  accommodating  "  future  father-in-law, 
who,  as  he  had  told  him  to-day,  would  help  him  to 
settle  up  his  debts  ;  a  few  bottles  more  or  less  of  cham- 
pagne could  make  no  difference. 

"  Have  you  sent  word  to  Bernardi,  Rost  ?  "  asked  fat 
Assessor  Dolling. 

''  Of  course  !  "  replied  he.  "  I  hope  he  will  telegraph 
congratulations,  for  his  letters  are  unendurable  ;  what 
he  writes  in  his  misanthropical  mood  is  incredible  !  " 

"  His  letters  are  better  than  himself,"  cried  one  of 
the  young  men  ;  "  he  does  nothing  but  work  or  play  on 
his  violin.  When  I  had  leave  recently  I  tried  several 
times  to  bring  him  out  a  bit  ;  what  is  the  use  otherwise 
of  being  stationed  in  a  half-way  decent  city  ?  But 
no,  indeed.  He  remarked  very  condescendingly  that 
such  doings  disgusted  him,  and  that  the  Tivoli  Theatre 
was  to  him  simply  horrible." 

Most  of  the  men  laughed.  "I  troubled  him  no 
more,"  concluded  the  young  officer,  filling  his  glass. 
"  Such  a  thing  never  worries  us  of  the  cavalry." 

"I  really  believe  that  he  will  resign,"  remarked 
another  very  slowly,  "  for  I  learned  accidentally  that  he 
asked  my  uncle,  who  is  a  kind  of  musical  crank,  whether 
he  believed  that  his  talent  was  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  accomplish  anything  as  a  virtuoso,  an  artist." 

"  And  I  trust  that  your  uncle  said,"  interrupted  the 

Assessor,  imitating  the  speaker,  " '  Dear  Bernardi,  you 

are  not  very  clever  ;  you  are  not  a  bad  fiddler,  but  it 

takes  more  than  that  nowadays  to  become  a  virtuoso.'  " 

ii 


162  A  Poor  Girl. 

Lieutenant  von  Rost,  who  was  not  easily  roused, 
suddenly  changed  color. 

"  Such  a  fellow  !  "  he  said  softly  to  his  neighbor 
on  the  left.  "One  has  just  with  difficulty  prevented 
him  from  committing  an  act  of  folly,  and  now  he  is 
about  to  commit  a  still  greater  one — he  is  simply 
crazy." 

But  his  irritated  remark  was  drowned  by  the  noisy 
"Hoc/if"  which  his  comrades  drank  to  the  health  of  the 
young  couple. 

"  Here's  to  Miss  Annie  Cramm  !  Let  us  drink  to 
her  health  with  three  times  three  !  "  came  from  many 
animated  voices. 

"  And  a  health  to  all  beautiful  women  ! "  cried  Cap- 
tain von  P ,  and  again  the  glasses  clicked. 

Moritz  suddenly  rose.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  in 
his  present  frame  of  mind  to  remain  here  in  this  tumult. 

"  You  are  going  ?  "  asked  the  Bennewitzer.  "  I  will 
come  with  you  if  you  will  permit." 

"You  are  staying  here  in  the  hotel  ?"  Moritz  asked 
in  the  hall,  while  the  enthusiastic  toasts  echoed  from 
the  dining-room. 

"Yes!     But  I  will  accompany  you,  Ratenow." 

It  was  now  quiet  on  the  street ;  only  the  moon 
bathed  the  city  in  its  pale  radiance,  and  a  light  mist 
hung  over  the  roofs  and  wrapped  the  outlines  of  the 
houses  and  trees  in  a  fairy-like  veil.  They  walked  on 
in  silence,  neither  could  find  the  right  word  to  begin 
the  conversation. 


A  Poor  Girl.  i63 

"  My  dear  Ratenow,"  said  the  elder  at  length,  "  I  do 
not  want  you,  you  especially,  to  judge  me  falsely.  You 
looked  at  me  so  strangely  a  short  time  ago.  I  am 
neither  vain  enough  to  believe  that  a  young  girl  like 
Elsa  von  Hegebach  would  rush  with  delight  into  my 
open  arms,  nor  am  I  at  the  age  when  the  expectation 
of  the  decisive  word  from  a  pair  of  red  lips  drives  one 
hither  and  thither  restlessly,  and  makes  one,  in  case  it 
is  a  refusal,  think  with  satisfaction  of  suicide.  I  have 
borne  too  many  hard  blows  of  fate  for  that.  The 
reasons  which  induce  me  to  ask  for  my  cousin's  hand 
are  only  partly  of  an  egotistical  nature.  My  chief 
desire  is  that  my  cousin  and  his  child  may  share  our 
uncle's  property,  and  this  is  the  only  way  in  which 

they  can  legally.  But "  he  stood  still  and  laid  his 

hand  on  his  companion's  shoulder.  "  I  will  add  that 
I  should  not  have  formed  this  plan  had  not  I  con- 
ceived the  greatest  liking  for  the  young  girl.  I  say 
liking,  dear  Ratenow  ;  at  my  age  one  no  longer  speaks 
of  passions." 

They  walked  on.  Moritz  had  continued  silent,  he 
knew  so  well  that  the  man  spoke  the  truth  ;  he  knew 
that  he  could  have  chosen  from  many  ;  he  was  still  a 
stately  gentleman,  a  man  with  a  noble,  large  heart,  he 
might  claim  happiness,  and  yet 

"  In  the  last  weeks  I  have  continually  imagined  how 
it  might  be,  Ratenow,"  the  Bennewitzer  continued  in  a 
warm  tone.  "  I  have  seen  Elsa's  figure  gliding  through 
my  lonely  rooms,  and  have  heard  her  voice,  so  promis- 


164  A  Poor  Girl. 

ing  of  happiness.  I  have  gone  to  the  room  which  I 
destined  for  her  father,  and  have  planned  the  wedding 
journey  so  as  to  show  the  wondering  child's  eyes  the 
other  side  of  the  Alps.  God  knows,  Ratenow,  it  would 
be  an  unspeakable  pleasure  to  me  to  show  this  young 
creature  the  thousand  beauties  with  which  nature  and 
man  have  adorned  the  world,  and " 

He  paused. 

"  I  once  crossed  the  Black  Forest  into  Switzerland, 
with  my  eldest  boy,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  pleas- 
ure which  I  took  in  his  unfeigned  delight,  his  naive 
astonishment.  I  should  like  to  see  it  again — Ratenow," 
he  asked  suddenly,  "  is  not  that  some  one  ?  " 

They  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  carriage  drive  ;  the 
dark  tree-trunks  stood  out  distinctly  in  the  moonlight, 
and  through  the  light  mist,  quickly,  almost  running, 
a  figure  certainly  did  come  toward  them. 

"  It  is  a  woman,"  said  Moritz.  "  It  is  Elsa,"  he 
added,  after  a  minute.  "  Elsa,  for  God's  sake,  Elsa, 
where  are  you  going  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

Suddenly  she  clung  to  him,  he  felt  the  trembling  and 
quivering  of  her  body. 

"  Moritz,  to  father  !     Take  me  to  father  !  " 

"  What  has  happened,  Elsa  ?     Pray  speak  !  " 

He  loosed  her  arms  from  his  neck  and  gazed  at  her 
deathly-pale  face. 

"  111,"  said  she,  with  quivering  lips.  "  Susan  came, 
she  wished  to  summon  me,  then  I  ran  away — take  me 
there,  Moritz." 


A  Poor  Girl.  165 

He  drew  her  trembling  hand  within  his  arm.  "  Come, 
my  girl." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  the  Bennewitzer.  "  Has 
a  physician  been  sent  for,  do  you  know,  Elsa  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  ran  on,  the  men  had  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  up  with  her.  She  was  without  hat  and 
coat,  and  in  the  uncertain  light  there  was  something 
uncanny  in  the  way  she  flew  on  ahead.  She  had 
rushed  up  the  stairs  when  the  men  reached  the  door.  In 
the  dim  hall  upstairs  the  physician  came  to  meet  them. 

"  Come  in,  gentlemen,"  he  said  softly.  "  I  sent  for 
his  daughter — he  will  not  live  until  morning." 

They  stood  in  the  dingy  sitting-room,  the  moonlight 
shone  in  brightly,  and  lay  in  a  broad,  white  strip  upon 
the  floor,  while  the  shadows  of  the  young  leafy  twigs 
outside  the  window  were  reflected  in  it.  "  Tic-tac, 
tic-tac,"  said  the  old  Black  Forest  clock,  and  through 
the  half-opened  door  of  the  adjoining  room  came 
sounds  like  groans  of  pain. 

"  Papa  !  "  cried  a  voice  then,  "  do  not  go  away  from 
me,  do  not  leave  me  so  lonely,  so  fearfully  lonely  !  " 

The  physician  quickly  took  a  step  toward  the  door, 
then  stood  still  again — the  dying  man  spoke  slowly, 
hesitatingly,  and  in  disconnected,  scarcely  intelligible 
sentences. 

"  No,  no,  papa,  do  not  die,  do  not  die  !  I  must  tell 
you  something,  dear  papa.  Listen  to  me,  can  you  hear 
me  ? " 

The  physician  went  in.     After  a  moment  he  came 


1 66  A  Poor  Girl. 

back  and  motioned  to  the  Bennewitzer.  He  entered 
the  room,  and  his  eyes  sought  the  girl.  She  lay  before 
the  chair  in  which  her  father  rested,  and  embraced  his 
knees  ;  the  old  man's  right  hand  lay  on  her  head,  his 
half-closed  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  entrance. 

"  It  has  come  quickly,  cousin,  but  I  am  much — 
calmer  than  usual — because — Elsa,  your  hand.  I  have 
done  nothing  for  you  in  life,  poor  child,  forgive  me, 
and  you  were  always  good  and  obedient — forgive  me, 
Elsa,  make  it  easier  for  me  to  die — it  was  so  hard — 
life." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  around  as  if  begging 
for  mercy,  but  the  weary  eyes  did  not  meet  her  gaze, 
did  not  understand  what  she  wanted.  She  only  felt 
that  his  hand  with  difficulty  groped  for  hers,  and  when 
he  clasped  it,  made  a  weary  effort  to  raise  it  and  lay  it 
in  another  hand.  All  the  sacred  majesty  of  death 
suddenly  dawned  upon  her  at  sight  of  the  fearfully 
altered  features,  she  gave  herself  up  unresistingly  to  the 
influence,  then  she  felt  a  man's  warm  hand  clasped 
around  hers,  and  that  the  dying  man's  right  rested  help- 
lessly upon  both. 

"  William,  dear  William,"  said  a  man's  voice,  with 
emotion,  "  I  will  protect  her  and  shield  her — I  promise 
you  !  " 

"  Elsa  !  "  whispered  the  dying  man,  "  you  will  not  be 
left  alone  ;  no — poor — deserted  girl — no,  Elsa " 

She  lay  there  without  strength,  her  head  on  his  knees, 
her  hand  still  clasped  in  the  Bennewitzer's ;  it  seemed 


A  Poor  Girl.  167 

as  though  a  blood-red  mist  rose  before  her  eyes,  and 
she  could  no  longer  think  clearly.  Then  she  heard 
Moritz's  voice  once  more.  "  It  is  over.  Come,  Elsa,  my 
dear  child,"  and  she  felt  some  one  raise  her  from  the 
floor,  then  knew  no  more. 

When  she  awoke  to  consciousness,  Mrs.  von  Ratenow 
sat  beside  the  sofa  upon  which  they  had  put  her  to 
bed  ;  the  old  lady  wore  a  wrapper,  and  had  rested  her 
head  against  the  back  of  the  chair  and  slept.  The  rays 
of  the  rising  sun  fell  through  the  window,  and  filled  the 
room  with  light. 

The  young  girl  started  up  abruptly,  the  scene  of  the 
night  before  rose  to  her  mind  suddenly  as  if  by  magic. 
Ah,  it  is  terrible  when  a  few  hours  of  sleep  have  driven 
away  sad  remembrance;  the  weight  of  misery  falls  with 
double  force  upon  the  soul  as  it  awakens,  terrifying  it 
anew,  hurling  it  anew  to  the  ground. 

She  drew  her  hand  over  her  forehead.  Was  it  all  true  ? 
And  as  if  to  convince  herself,  she  rose  and  crept  past  the 
sleeping  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  into  the  adjoining  room. 

A  draught  of  fresh  air  greeted  her,  the  windows  were 
opened,  and  a  white  cloth  thrown  over  that  which  lay  on 
the  bed  yonder.  She  stared  at  it  immovably,  her  heart 
grew  cold,  and  involuntarily  she  wrung  her  hands. 
"  Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven — "  flashed  across  her 
distracted  mind ;  she  felt  that  she  must  pray,  and  yet 
had  not  the  power  to  put  her  fear,  her  supplication  into 
her  own  words — "  and  forgive  us  our  debts  as  we  forgive 
our  debtors  !  " 


1 68  A  Poor  Girl. 

Then  a  startlingly  shrill  sound  rang  up  into  the  room. 
Down  in  the  street  the  trumpeter  was  blowing  the  usual 
reveille. 

"His  soldiers  must  wake  up  papa,"  Aunt  Lott  had 
once  told  the  little  girl  when  they  had  heard  the  gay 
sounds  even  in  the  castle. 

"  Come,  Elsa,  my  dear  child,  that  will  never  wake 
him  again,"  said  the  voice  of  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  ;  and 
she  drew  the  girl  to  her  breast.  "  It  is  well  with  him, 
my  child,  we  must  not  grudge  him  his  peace." 


XII. 

THE  funeral  was  over.  The  gentlemen  who  had 
accompanied  the  body  to  the  churchyard  took  leave  at 
the  gate  of  Moritz  and  the  Bennewitzer. 

Lieutenant  von  Rost  crossed  the  road  to  greet  his 
fiancee  and  her  mother,  who  were  taking  a  walk,  perhaps 
not  merely  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  but  also  to  see  some- 
thing of  the  funeral  procession.  Mrs.  Cramm  loved 
such  things,  and  Annie  no  less  ;  a  large  fire,  a  wedding, 
or  a  funeral  always  attracted  them  to  the  scene. 

The  fiancd  bowed  and  walked  on  beside  Annie  with- 
out offering  her  his  arm.  He  was  not  of  an  especially 
chivalrous  nature,  and  he  had  never  spoiled  his  be- 
trothed by  too  great  attention,  which  Annie  felt  most 
painfully.  It  would  have  been  so  charming  to  walk 
along  the  streets  together  so  tenderly  and  affectionately 
that  every  one  might  see  how  they  loved  each  other. 

"  My  dear  son,"  began  Mrs.  Cramm,  "  have  you  heard 
how  Miss  von  Hegebach  is  feeling  now  ?  She  must 
be  fairly  petrified  with  grief,  as  Annie  tells  me." 

The  young  lady  nodded  eagerly.  "  Yes,  only  think, 
Leo,  I  was  there  a  short  time  ago  ;  she  did  not  say  a 


170  A  Poor  Girl. 

word,  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see.  She  was  not  on  such 
deeply  affectionate  terms  with  the  old  man,  and  au  fond 
really  has  no  cause  for  such  despair.  But  she  is  fairly 
crushed.  Do  you  understand  that  ?  " 

He  dropped  his  eye-glass.  "  Possibly,"  he  replied, 
"it  is  the  result  of  two  such  shocks  at  once." 

"Two?"  mother  and  daughter  cried  in  the  same 
breath. 

He  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  said,  "  She  was 
betrothed  to  the  Bennewitzer  beside  her  father's  death- 
bed." 

A  double  cry  of  astonishment.  "  How  lucky  that  girl 
is  !  "  cried  the  round  old  lady  in  the  black  velvet  cloak. 

<l  It  is  astonishing,  is  it  not  ? "  asked  Lieutenant 
von  Rost,  with  an  expression  which  made  it  doubtful 
whether  he  spoke  seriously  or  ironically. 

"  A  great  piece  of  good  fortune  !  "  repeated  Mrs. 
Cramm.  "  That  magnificent  Bennewitz  and  the  elegant 

carriages  !  Why,  last  year  Prince  H stayed  there 

for  the  hunting  !  " 

Annie  was  silent.  She  remembered  how,  when  at 
school,  Elsa  had  often  worn  herself  out  over  her  books 
studying  for  the  governess's  examinations  ;  how  simply 
she  had  always  dressed.  Yes,  truly  that  was  a  piece 
of  good  fortune.  Who  would  have  thought  it  ? 

So  the  news  of  the  betrothal  of  the  so  recently 
orphaned  girl  to  her  cousin  flew  all  over  the  city ;  and 
she  herself  sat  in  her  little  room  in  her  long  mourning 
gown,  her  pale  face  rose  ghostlike  above  the  black 


A  Poor  Girl.  171 

crape  ruche,  and  her  mouth  wore  an  indescribably  sad 
expression. 

She  had  said  but  little  since  that  morning,  but  Aunt 
Ratenow  so  much  the  more.  She  had  not  wept,  but 
had  gone  about  with  a  grief-stricken  face,  had  moved 
from  one  spot  to  another,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  her 
eyes  fixed  gloomily  upon  the  ground.  She  had  taken 
scarcely  any  nourishment,  had  scarcely  slept.  She  saw 
continually  before  her  the  discolored  face  of  her  dying 
father  ;  she  felt  the  anxious  groping  for  her  hand,  and 
how  the  chain  closed  around  it,  this  invisible,  horrible 
chain  which  she  must  wear  for  her  whole  life.  Was  it 
not  more  than  horrible  to  avail  oneself  of  the  sacred 
power  of  the  death-hour,  the  compelling  force  of  a  last 
wish,  to  make  a  human  heart  miserable  for  all  life  ? 
"  Father,  you  did  not  love  me,"  she  groaned.  And 
then  again  she  saw  the  happy  smile  when  he  joined 
their  hands  ;  the  last,  ah,  so  gentle  breath,  as  though 
the  poor  breast  were  freed  from  a  heavy  weight.  He 
died  content,  he  died  calm — and  she  must  live,  live  ! 
It  was  horrible  ! 

She  had  not  yet  seen  him  again,  him  in  whose  hand 
her  father  had  placed  her  right  hand  ;  and  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow  had  not  urged  this  upon  her.  It  was  not 
compatible,  this  deep,  silent  grief,  with  betrothal  happi- 
ness. But  when  they  had  returned  from  the  burial, 
Mr.  von  Hegebach  had  asked  to  speak  with  her  who 
had  been  intrusted  to  him  in  that  solemn  hour. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  also  in  deep  mourning,  went  up- 


172  A  Poor  Girl. 

stairs  to  announce  this  important  visit  to  Elsa.  She 
held  a  few  twigs  of  cypress  in  her  hand  ;  the  Benne- 
witzer  had  taken  them  from  the  coffin  before  it  was 
lowered  into  the  grave — a  last  greeting  for  the  daughter. 

The  stately  woman  knocked  less  resolutely  than 
usual  at  the  door,  and  then  entered.  Elsa  sat  beside 
the  table,  writing  materials  lay  before  her  ;  she  shut  the 
letter  she  was  writing  in  the  portfolio  and  rose.  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  pressed  the  little  cypress  twigs  into  her 
hand  and  stroked  the  pale  cheek. 

"  Hegebach  sends  his  love,  he  thought  you  would 
like  to  drive  with  him  to  the  grave,  the  carriage  is 
waiting,  Elsa.  Will  you  get  ready  ?  He  will  come  up 
for  you." 

At  the  words  "  with  him  "  she  shuddered,  and  a  deep 
blush  suffused  her  pale  face  for  a  moment.  She  did 
not  answer,  but  shook  her  blonde  head  slightly. 

"  Why  have  you  drawn  all  the  shades  down  ?"  asked 
the  old  lady,  "as  though  God's  sun  were  something 
horrible,"  and  she  drew  them  up  so  that  the  glaring 
sunlight  streamed  in  and  encircled  the  girl's  head  like 
a  halo.  She  closed  her  eyes,  the  rays  were  so  piteously 
bright. 

"  Look*  out-doors,  Elsa."  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  took  her 
hand  and  drew  her  to  the  window.  "  See  how  the  buds 
are  bursting  on  the  apple-trees  and  how  blue  the  sky 
is  !  One  should  honor  the  dead,  child,  but  should  not 
forget  the  living  for  them,  and  you  have  duties  in  life  ; 
take  heart." 


A  Poor  Girl.  173 

The  girl  did  not  raise  her  eyes  ;  if  possible,  she  grew 
paler. 

"I  am  going  down-stairs  now,  Elsa  ;  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  Frieda.  I  will  send  your  fianct?  upstairs. 
At  such  times  etiquette  steps  in  the  background,  and 
besides  he  is  no  young  idiot.  When  you  come  back 
from  the  church-yard  you  will  take  a  cup  of  coffee  with 
me.  God  bless  you,  Elsa  !  " 

She  had  gone.  The  girl  clutched  her  forehead  as 
though  in  agony,  and  the  little  hand  clenched  itself  in 
her  soft  blonde  hair.  Was  there  no  hope  of  escape  ? 
Her  eyes  glanced  around  the  room  in  horror  ;  now  she 
was  to  fulfil  a  promise  against  which  her  whole  heart 
rebelled.  Ah,  to  be  free,  to  be  free  once  more  !  It 
was  horrible  to  know  that  all  such  thoughts  were  a  sin. 
Mechanically  she  donned  her  dainty  black  mantle  and 
bonnet.  Then  her  hands  dropped  down  limply,  as 
she  was  about  to  fasten  the  strings — there  on  the 
threshold 

"Cousin,"  she  stammered. 

He  came  up  to  her  and  took  both  her  hands  in  his  ; 
now  he  drew  them  to  his  lips. 

"My  dear  Elsa,"  said  he  gently,  "it  was  a  painful 
hour  which  brought  us  together,  but  also  a  grave  and 
sacred  one,  the  guarantee  of  a  future  of  true,  sincere 
happiness." 

He  spoke  warmly,  but  nevertheless  what  he  said 
sounded  stiff,  almost  pedantic.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  girl's  chest  rose  as  if  relieved,  but  she  was  silent. 


174 


A  Poor  Girl. 


"  Are  you  willing  that  we  should  now  visit  your  fath- 
er's grave  together,  Elsa  ?  " 

She  nodded.  He  took  her  parasol  from  the  table, 
handed  it  to  her,  and  then  offered  her  his  arm.  She 


scarcely  rested  her  hand  upon  it,  and  thus  they  left  the 
room,  went  down-stairs,  through  the  hall  and  out  to 
the  carriage.  He  helped  her  in,  she  seated  herself  on 
the  soft  cushions  of  silver- gray  silk,  and  he  carefully 


A  Poor  Girl.  175 

spread  the  handsome  lap-robe  over  her  knees.  She 
had  not  once  looked  up  ;  now,  as  they  drove  quickly 
away,  she  glanced  back.  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  stood  in 
the  window  and  waved  her  hand  to  them. 

A  feeling  of  indescribable  misery  came  over  the  girl 
as  she  rolled  away  in  the  elegant  carriage.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  been  sold,  that  she  was  unworthy 
of  herself,  and  with  a  hasty  gesture  she  drew  the  crape 
veil  over  her  face.  She  was  ashamed  to  let  the  bright 
clear  spring  sun  shine  into  her  eyes. 

She  did  not  notice  his  offered  arm  at  the  entrance  of 
the  church-yard  ;  she  walked  on  hastily. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Elsa  ?  "  he  asked.  "  The 
grave  is  on  this  side." 

But  already  she  had  sunk  down  beside  another 
mound,  and  was  wringing  her  hands  as  though  in  de- 
spairing prayer.  If  she  were  still  alive — a  mother  could 
never  force  her  child  into  a  loveless  life,  no,  never  ! 

He  stood  aside,  calmly  waiting.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  she  rose,  turned  and  followed  him  to  the  fresh 
grave  on  which  the  earth  was  still  uneven — a  sad 
sight  which  they  had  sought  to  conceal  by  numerous 
wreaths. 

She  stood  here  without  a  word,  without  a  tear.  He 
tried  to  take  her  hand,  she  drew  it  away  from  him 
gently. 

"  Shall  we  return  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  of  deep  silence.  She  assented  and  walked  quickly 
on  before  him,  down  the  narrow  path  between  the  rows 


176  A  Poor  Girl. 

of  graves.  At  the  carriage  she  hesitated.  She  would 
have  much  preferred  walking.  He  silently  offered  her 
his  hand  to  assist  her  to  get  into  the  carriage  and  seated 
himself  beside  her  in  silence.  He  knew  what  it  was  to 
return  home  from  a  fresh  grave,  he  could  easily  under- 
stand her  gloomy  manner  ;  besides,  she  was  always  shy, 
grave,  and  somewhat  cold.  They  would  learn  to  laugh 
again,  these  brown  childish  eyes,  when  they  need  no 
longer  look  upon  care  and  want,  when  the  careless 
sunny  existence  in  the  comfortable  rooms  and  beautiful 
park  of  Bennewitz  had  banished  sad  thoughts  from 
the  white  brow.  She  would  learn  to  smile  again  on 
their  travels  ;  he  would  show  her  Paris  first  of  all;  she 
was  only  human,  and  Paris — Paris  is  an  undefinably 
attractive  word  for  a  woman's  ear. 

She  had  covered  her  face  with  her  veil  again,  and 
looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  As  they  drove 
past  the  officers'  club,  Lieutenant  von  Rost  and  Captain 

von  H stood  in  front  of  it.  They  bowed  deeply, 

and  looked  after  the  carriage  and  the  black  veil  which 
floated  through  the  carriage  window  for  a  moment. 

"  She  has  not  learned,"  said  Rost,  "to  lie  back  among 
the  cushions  a  la  grande  dame  ;  she  sat  up  like  a  naughty 
child  on  a  school-bench.  Ah,  well,  it  will  not  take  her 
long;  women  have  a  remarkable  skill  for  such  things." 

"  Do  you  think  that  she  is  in  love  with  him  ?  "  asked 
von  H . 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Rost,  and  turned  toward  his  horse, 
which  a  groom  just  then  led  up. 


XIII. 

MEANWHILE  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  had  been  with 
Frieda.  This  young  lady's  temper  had  been  as  hope- 
lessly bad  as  an  equinoctial  storm.  She  had  scarcely  a 
word  of  sympathy  for  the  orphan.  Lili  had  gone  up- 
stairs intending  to  be  very  cool  in  her  condolences,  but 
her  good  though  flighty  heart  had  gone  out  to  the  quiet, 
grief-stricken  girl,  and  when  she  rejoined  Frieda  down- 
stairs her  eyes  were  red. 

"  Good  gracious,  why  ?  "  said  the  young  wife  crossly. 
"  She  has  been  very  fortunate,  I  think.  Pray  do  not 
go  on  like  Moritz,  as  though  a  grand  catastrophe  had 
occurred." 

"  Why,  Frieda,  one  does  not  look  like  that,  in  spite 
of  all  one's  grief,  when  one  is  happily  betrothed.  No, 
Frieda,  you  are  in  a  bad  temper,  and  wish  to  have  some 
one  to  be  vexed  with  ;  I  know  you,  little  sister,  eh  ? 
She  has  taken  away  one  of  your  admirers,  dear  Frieda, 
eh  ?  You  cannot  seriously  be  jealous  of  Moritz,  good 
gracious !  He  has  never  cared  for  any  one  in  all  his 
life  but  just  you." 

But  neither  teasing  nor  reasoning  had  succeeded  in 
12 


178  A  Poor  Girl. 

banishing  the  beautiful  woman's  bad  temper;  everything 
had  gone  wrong  since  Elsacame  here,  and  now  there  was 
no  prospect  that  she  would  leave  the  house.  One  must 
consider  her  mourning,  she  was  no  longer  a  nobody 
who  could  be  overlooked,  she  was  betrothed  to  a  man 
who  belonged  to  those  who  gave  tone  to  his  circle,  who 
was  considered  one  of  the  leaders  of  society  in  the  prov- 
ince. And  Frieda  fastened  a  coral  brooch  at  the  neck 
of  her  dark-blue  gown,  for  she  would  not  participate 
in  the  mourning.  What  did  she  care  about  the  surly 
old  man  who  had  just  closed  his  weary  eyes  ? 

But  the  old  lady  entered  her  daughter-in-law's  room 
with  such  an  expression  of  satisfaction  that  the  black 
crape-trimmed  gown  was  in  strange  contrast  to  her  face. 
All  her  hopes  for  the  girl  were  about  to  be  fulfilled,  the 
poor  little  thing  had  actually  drawn  the  grand  prize. 
And  how  nicely  she  behaved,  so  grave,  so  reserved, 
and  yet  so  proud  in  her  manners.  And  how  pretty  she 
looked  in  her  deep  mourning.  She  had  not  once  tried, 
as  before  her  father's  death,  to  behave  repellently  and 
roughly.  Ah,  such  a  gaze  into  eyes  which  are  about 
to  close  forever  has  a  grave,  sacred  power,  and  makes 
everything  which  once  had  seemed  important  appear 
mere  trifles  and  childishness.  Elsa  assuredly  had  gladly 
grasped  the  protecting  hand  which  was  offered  her  just 
at  the  moment  when  her  little  boat  began  to  toss  rud- 
derless upon  the  wild  sea  of  life. 

"  She  is  a  good  child,  Elsa,  God  bless  her !  "  The 
old  lady  did  not  mourn  too  deeply  for  the  deceased. 


A  Poor  Girl.  179 

She  had  indeed  one  regret,  she  would  have  been  pleased 
had  he  been  spared  to  live  comfortably  for  a  few  years, 
but  God  knew  best ;  they  had  never  been  very  good 
friends,  he  and  the  Bennewitzer,  perhaps  he  might  have 
disturbed  the  perfect  harmony.  And  he  had  always 
been  an  invalid — yes,  yes,  he  was  at  peace — might  he 
rest  sweetly. 

She  sat  down  on  one  of  Frieda's  fragile  arm-chairs, 
with  a  very  pleasant  "  Good  morning,"  and  inquired 
after  her  little  grandson's  health  in  such  a  bright  voice 
that  the  young  wife's  blue  eyes  rested  upon  her  in 
astonishment. 

"  Well,  Frieda,  dear,"  she  continued,  with  satisfac- 
tion, "  what  do  you  say  to  Elsa  ?  Your  late  foolish  fan- 
cies have  flown,  I  trust."  And  she  took  Frieda's  hand. 
"  Listen,  my  child,  a  great  load  is  taken  off  my 
rnind  ;  you  can  probably  see  it  in  my  face,  and  when 
anything  pleases  me,  you  know  that  I  like  to  see  others 
pleased.  You  may  wish  for  something  particularly  nice 
for  your  birthday,  Frieda.  Yes  ?  Well,  out  with  it, 
what  will  you  have  ?  Lili,  help  her." 

The  young  wife's  face  did  not  yet  clear,  although  what 
she  had  just  heard  sounded  very  promising  ;  mamma 
Ratenow's  gifts  were  always  noble. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  dear  mamma,"  came  hesitat- 
ingly from  the  scarlet  lips.  "  I " 

"Well  you  have  time  to  think  about  it,  do  not  hurry. 
How  would  it  be  if  you  and  Moritz  were  to  take  a  little 
trip,  a  season  in  Baden-Baden,  then  Switzerland  and 


i8o  A  Poor  Girl. 

the  Italian  lakes — eh  ?  I  will  take  care  of  the  children. 
Well,  think  it  over,  my  dear.  Good  morning.  I  will 
speak  to  Moritz  about  it.  Good  morning,  children." 

Ah,  yes  ;  she  knew  how  to  find  for  every  one  the 
right  tune  to  which  she  would  willingly  dance,  and  she 
also  knew  that  she  would  never  miss  the  effect  she 
strove  for.  And  so  in  this  case.  The  two  sisters 
suddenly  sat  close  together  on  the  lounge,  and  turned 
over  the  leaves  of  the  newest  fashion  magazine  ;  here 
was  such  a  pretty,  stylish  travelling  costume  if  it  were 
made  up  in  different  colors,  say  gendarme-blue.  Moritz 
did  not  like  to  travel,  it  was  too  inconvenient  and  he 
dreaded  the  expense,  for  Madame  Frieda  did  not  travel 
cheaply,  but  now  he  could  not  help  himself.  Travel ! 
Oh,  rapturous  word  !  Travel — Baden-Baden ! 

Moritz  was  really  the  only  one  who  continued  ob- 
stinate. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  boy  ? "  asked  his 
mother.  "  How  can  you  take  Frieda's  foolish  jealousy 
so  to  heart  ?  She  is  on  the  best  way  to  become 
sensible." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  irritably.  "  You  mis- 
judge me,  mother.  I  have  simply  ignored  this  fancy 
of  Frieda's,  although  I  cannot  but  admit  that  her 
behavior  wounds  me.  It  may  be  that  she  is  partially 
right ;  perhaps  I  was  too  prematurely  anxious  about 
the  girl." 

They  walked  across  the  yard  together  during  this 
conversation.  The  spring  sun  bathed  the  old  house  in 


A  Poor  Girl.  181 

a  golden  glow ;  the  great  linden  at  the  gate  had  put  out 
emerald-green,  almost  transparent  leaves;  on  the  roofs  of 
the  farm  buildings,  the  doves  sunned  themselves  in  long 
rows,  and  suddenly  soared  up  into  the  air,  their  wings 
resembling  silver  sparks  against  the  deep-blue  sky. 

A  carriage  rolled  quickly  through  the  gateway,  and 
stopped  before  the  house  door. 

"  The  betrothed  couple,  Moritz,"  said  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow,  walking  more  quickly.  "  Where  are  you 
going,  Moritz  ?  " 

The  son  had  taken  his  cap  from  his  blonde  head, 
and  now  turned  toward  the  stable. 

"  I  am  going  to  look  after  Sultana  ;  the  veterinary 
surgeon  is  coming  to-day  to  make  another  examination 
of  her  foot." 

"  Strange  !  "  murmured  the  old  lady,  hurrying  on,  and 
she  overtook  the  young  pair  just  in  the  doorway,  and 
pressed  the  girl's  little  black-gloved  hand. 

She  looked  strangely,  Elsa,  so  rigid  and  determined. 
Good  Heavens,  her  father — but  this  was  unnatural  ;  if 
she  would  but  weep  !  And  so  she  sat  in  the  arm-chair 
in  her  aunt's  comfortable  room,  drinking  her  coffee. 
The  door  into  the  garden-room  was  open,  and  the  mild, 
soft  spring  air  blew  in  on  the  stone  paving  of  the 
terrace  ;  the  sun  shone  hotly,  and  a  few  rays  fell  in 
well-defined  stripes  on  the  floor,  while  myriads  of  atoms 
danced  thereon. 

The  girl  had  turned  her  delicate  head,  and  gazed 
into  the  next  room  immovably,  with  burning  eyes, 


1 82  A  Poor  Girl. 

without  speaking  a  word,  without  taking  the  slightest 
part  in  the  conversation.  Why  should  she  ? 

She  seemed  to  herself  like  one  thrust  out  of  a  flowery 
garden  into  the  ice  and  snow  of  winter  ;  she  shivered 
and  seemed  frozen,  frozen  to  the  very  marrow  of  her 
bones.  And  from  beyond,  blooming  roses  nodded  to  her 
and  asked  :  "  Why  do  you  let  them  urge  you  to  this  ?  " 

And  the  swallows  flew  by,  chirping  :  "  Is  this  your 
courage  ?  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  " 

And  she  was  ashamed,  so  ashamed  that  she  sprang 
up  and  hurried  out  onto  the  terrace  and  down  into  the 
garden,  through  the  dear  old  paths,  with  flying  feet. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,"  said  the  Bennewitzer, 
when  Elsa  left  the  garden-room  so  suddenly,  "  is  my 
betrothed  ill  ?  I  must  tell  you  frankly  that  this  silent 
despair  worries  me.  Is  it  really  the.  shock  at  the 
sudden  death  alone  which  has  so  wholly  changed  her  ? " 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head  carelessly. 

"  My  dear  Hegebach  !  The  girls  of  the  present  time 
are  different  from  those  of  our  day.  Then  they  were 
fresh,  healthy  creatures  ;  to-day  a  bit  of  misanthropy  is 
a  part  of  good  tone.  And,  besides,  remember  it  is 
the  day  of  the  funeral,  and  in  spite  of  everything  she 
loved  her  father  absurdly,  tenderly." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  he  asked  slowly,  settling  him- 
self more  comfortably  in  his  arm-chair  than  he  had 
permitted  himself  in  the  young  girl's  presence.  "  I  do 
not  know.  It  was  principally  the  expression  of  the  eyes. 
When  I  went  to  her  room  this  afternoon  she  gave  me  a 


A  Poor  Girl  183 

look — yes,  you  will  call  me  sentimental,  my  dear 
madame,  but  I  cannot  forget  this  look,  it  was  so  re- 
proachful, questioning.  A  pair  of  eyes  looked  at  me 
thus  once  before,  and  I  could  never  forget  it.  It  was 
in  Russia  ;  a  young  gypsy  woman  stood  by  the  roadside 
and  begged.  My  coachman,  a  rough  fellow,  gave  her  a 
cut  over  the  head  with  his  whip.  She  did  not  move  an 
eyelash,  but  her  large  dark  eyes  turned  to  me  ;  a  world 
of  misery  lay  in  this  glance.  And  a  mouth  drawn  with 
pain.  Those  eyes,  those  questioning,  reproachful  eyes, 
were  Elsa's  when  I  entered  her  room  to-day.  And  I — 
I  cannot  help  it,  I  must  say  it — there  is  more  in  them 
than  grief  for  her  lost  father." 

"  Hegebach  !  "  came  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  reproof. 
A  very  strange  feeling  overcame  the  stately  woman,  at 
his  words.  She  shook  her  head  and  looked  at  him 
closely,  but  she  did  not  know  what  reply  to  make.  In 
her  embarrassment  she  picked  up  the  coffee-pot  and 
filled  her  cup  to  the  brim  ;  she  rose,  presented  her  guest 
with  a  cigar,  and  asked  :  "  Where  can  Elsa  be  ?  Shall 
we  take  a  walk  in  the  garden  ?  " 

They  wandered  'down  various  paths,  but  did  not 
discover  Elsa.  Frieda  and  Lili  returned  with  the 
children  from  a  walk ;  they  looked  over  the  wall  and 
saw  Moritz  riding  off.  He  bowed  to  them  and  cried 
that  he  was  going  to  inspect  the  fields. 

"  I  do  not  understand  where  Elsa  can  be  ;  she  is  a 
strange  girl."  And  "Elsa,  Elsa  !  "  echoed  all  over  the 
garden,  in  the  lady's  strong  voice. 


1 84  A  Poor  Girl. 

All  was  silence. 

"Pray,  dearest  Mrs.  von  Ratenovv,  leave  my  fiancee 
in  peace.  She  seems  not  inclined  to  talk,  and  I  can 
feel  for  her." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Here  and  there  he 
stopped  and  looked  at  a  budding  twig  and  gave  the 
botanical  name.  The  excited  woman  at  his  side  did 
not  answer. 

"  I  must  take  leave  early  to-day."  The  Bennewitzer 
paused  and  drew  out  his  watch.  "  Pray  give  Elsa  my 
warmest  love." 

"  I  will  have  her  looked  for,  dear  Hegebach." 

"  No,  pray  do  not ;  perhaps  she  is  crying  her  grief  out. 
Do  not  disturb  her,  my  dear  madam  ;  I  will  come  again 
to-morrow.  One  must  never  force  a  liking." 

He  called  to  the  gardener  who  just  then  passed,  to 
order  his  carriage,  calmly  continued  smoking  his  cigar, 
and  spoke  of  a  few  very  foreign  matters. 

"Apropos,  dear  Hegebach,"  the  old  lady  interrupted, 
"  what  did  you  say  was  the  name  of  the  Berlin  jeweler 
of  whom  you  ordered  the  engagement  ring  ?  " 

"  Haller  &  Company,"  he  replied.  "  It  will  not  be 
finished  before  a  week." 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  remarked,  "  because  there 
is  always  a  rush  of  such  business.  Thomas,  here  on 
Market  street,  could  have  attended  to  it  just  as 
well  and  quicker.  But  you  are  like  all  the  rest, 
Hegebach." 

He  smiled  but  did  not  answer. 


A  Poor  Girl,  185 

"  I  believe  the  carriage  drove  by,"  he  then  said. 
"  Permit  me  to  take  leave  of  you  now,  until  to-morrow, 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow ;  and  greet  my  sad  little  Elsa  for 
me." 

He  kissed  her  hand,  mounted  the  terrace  steps  elas- 
tically  and  disappeared  into  the  house.  After  a  while 
his  carriage  rolled  rapidly  over  the  paved  yard. 

"  Of  course  he  is  vexed,"  said  Mrs.  von  Ratenow, 
who  still  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  veranda  steps.  "  The 
child  behaves  inexcusably.  Good  Heavens,  how  pro- 
voking young  people  are  !  She  should  have  been  my 
father's  daughter,"  and  she  turned  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  garden  path  again,  with  great  strides  and  a 
very  excited  face.  Very  well,  she  would  say  nothing 
more  to-day,  but  to-morrow — it  was  unheard-of  to  run 
away  so  stupidly,  and  it  was  even  dangerous. 

"  And  what  does  that  mean  that  the  Bennewitzertold 
me,  that  story  about  her  eyes  ?  Merely  that  at  his  age 
he  yet  stares  at  the  child  like  a  boyish  lover,  the  soft- 
hearted fellow  ;  he  was  not  like  that  formerly,"  and  she 
drew  her  hand  over  her  forehead  and  for  a  moment 
stood  still  in  the  dairy,  like  a  ghost,  so  that  the  maid  al- 
most fell  on  her  knees  in  alarm  ;  she  had  thought  her 
mistress  anywhere  but  here  ;  surely  she  was  upstairs 
drinking  coffee  with  the  engaged  couple. 

"  Well,  pray  do  not  swoon,"  she  said  in  her  loud 
voice.  "  It  is  the  fashion  now  ;  "  and  she  went  from  pan 
to  pan,  and  looked  into  all  the  butter-tubs.  She  was  in 
a  bad  temper,  the  mistress.  She  could  not  even  knit 


1 86  A  Poor  Girl. 

as  usual  ;  she  saw  continually  before  her  the  girl's  pale 
face,  and  heard  the  Bennewitzer  talk  of  her  eyes.  She 
could  not  help  it,  she  must  speak  with  her — in  all  kind- 
ness, but  speak  with  her  she  must. 

She  rose  to  go  upstairs  ;  then  Moritz  came  and  seated 
himself  in  his  father's  easy-chair  opposite  her,  and  he 
had  all  sorts  of  matters  to  discuss  with  her.  His  ques- 
tion: "Has  Hegebach  gone  already?"  she  answered 
with  a  short:  "  As  you  see/  and  then  hurriedly  turned 
the  conversation  to  the  state  of  the  crops  ;  she  could 
not  tell  him  how  the  girl  behaved. 

"  Where  is  Elsa  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Probably  upstairs.  But  how  did  you  happen  to 
have  Sultana  treated  by  the  young  veterinary  ?  I  saw 
him  go  into  the  stable  a  short  time  ago." 

"  I  did  not  want  my  favorite  to  wait  long,  and  the 
older  man  is  ill." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  she,  but  she  was  thinking  of 
something  quite  different.  And  then  the  young  ladies 
and  children  came  in.  Lili  was  so  gay  and  the  children 
so  droll,  they  had  a  merry  time  in  the  twilight  hour. 
When  the  children  at  length  said  good-night  it  was 
quite  late,  and  the  moon  shone  brightly  upon  the  roofs 
of  the  out-buildings. 

"  Will  you  take  tea  with  us  ?  "  asked  Moritz,  "  and  is 
Elsa  coming  down-stairs  ?  " 

"Thank  you,  no,"  she  replied;  "  Sophie  may  bring 
our  tea  here  ;  Elsa  is  not  in  the  mood,  you  know." 

"  Then,  good-night,  mother !  " 


A  Poor  Girl.  187 

The  old  lady  rose  quickly  from  her  chair  ;  she  must 
speak  with  Elsa.  She  went  upstairs  hurriedly  and 
opened  the  door  of  the  girl's  room  ;  it  was  filled  with 
white  light,  the  windows  were  wide  open,  and  with 
the  moonlight  had  crept  in  a  sweet  perfume  of  violets. 
It  was  perfectly  silent  in  the  room  ;  nothing  stirred. 

"  Elsa,"  she  called  softly,  and  looked  around  the 
room.  There  lay  the  girl  on  the  bed  ;  the  old  lady 
went  up  to  her  and  bent  over  her.  Really,  she  slept  ! 
And  in  her  hand  she  held  a  little  bunch  of  faded 
violets  pressed  closely  to  her  breast.  But  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  stood  the  old  chest,  and  half  out  of  it  hung  a 
crumpled  white  gown. 

She  knew  both  gown  and  bunch  of  violets,  and  in  her 
mind  she  saw  the  girl  before  her  as  she  had  looked  that 
evening  of  the  dance,  with  her  happy  child's  eyes.  The 
old  lady  stood  there  motionless,  she  suddenly  felt  so 
strangely,  felt  as  she  had  not  for  long  years.  Was  this 
caused  by  the  perfume  of  the  violets  and  the  long-drawn 
sweet  tones  of  the  nightingales  floating  up  from  the 
garden  outside  ?  She  crept  out  into  the  corridor  on 
tip-toes,  and  then  she  stood  in  her  dark  room,  her  hand 
pressed  to  her  forehead,  motionless,  for  a  long  time. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  she  at  length,  in  an  undertone,  and 
went  to  the  little  table  where  she  kept  the  matches. 
And  "  Nonsense,"  she  repeated  again  loudly,  as  she 
struck  a  light.  "  To-morrow  morning  I  will  give  her  a 
good  talking-to." 


XIV. 

VERY  early  in  the  morning  rain  had  fallen,  and  the 
rising  sun  was  hidden  by  dark  clouds,  but  how  green 
and  fresh  was  the  earth  ! 

The  maids  were  busy  in  the  kitchen,  the  men  were 
beginning  to  feed  the  cattle,  but  for  the  rest  the  whole 
house  was  still,  except  for  a  light  step  which  came  along 
the  corridor  and  down  the  stairs  ;  through  the  lower 
hall  and  kitchen  it  hurried,  and  out  into  the  open  air. 

It  was  very  cool,  and  Elsa  von  Hegebach  drew  her 
veil  over  her  face  as  she  crossed  the  yard  and  went  out 
through  the  gate.  The  housekeeper,  about  to  enter  the 
dairy,  looked  after  her,  shaking  her  head. 

"I  think  she  must  be  going  to  the  churchyard,"  said 
she  to  the  cook. 

"  She  had  a  travelling  bag  in  her  hand,"  said  another, 
and  then  they  went  about  their  work. 

In  the  stable-door  stood  a  tall,  blonde  man,  and  his 
honest  blue  eyes  followed  her  gravely.  He  knew  what 
she  was  about  to  do,  and  he  did  not  move  a  foot  to 
hurry  after  her,  to  detain  her.  "  But  where  is  she  going  ?  " 
he  asked  in  an  undertone ;  and  so  he  stood  motion- 
less until  the  dark  figure  had  vanished  at  the  end  of  the 


A  Poor  Girl.  189 

driveway.  Then  he  examined  his  sick  horse  again, 
stroked  her  shining  neck,  as  she  looked  at  him  with  her 
intelligent  eyes,  and  when,  a  half  hour  later,  he  slowly 
crossed  the  yard  to  the  house,  he  heard  the  shrill 
whistle  of  a  locomotive  from  the  other  side  of  the  city. 

"  Farewell,  Elsa,  my  poor  girl,"  said  he  softly.  "  I  do 
not  know  whether  you  have  done  wisely,  but  that  you 
have  done  rightly  I  am  sure." 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  Mrs.  von  Ratenow 
sent  her  maid  upstairs  to  ask  Miss  von  Hegebach  to 
come  to  her.  The  old  lady  sat  by  the  window  as  usual, 
looking  very  grave  and  a  trifle  pale.  She  had  had  a  bad 
night ;  oppressive  dreams  with  all  kinds  of  evil  forebod- 
ings had  troubled  her.  The  fatal  white  gown  and 
withered  violets,  and  the  girl's  strange  manner  yesterday 
had  played  a  great  part  in  them.  And  to-day,  by  sober 
daylight,  the  old  lady  had  become  furious  with  herself ; 
she  should  have  waked  the  girl  yesterday  evening,  have 
scolded  her,  and  told  her  that  as  a  bethrothed  she 
should  not  think  of  the  other. 

And  who  was  this  other  ?  A  young  fellow  like  dozens 
of  others,  distinguished  by  nothing  but  a  bit  of  talent 
for  violin-playing.  She  must  put  an  end. to  it,  kindly,  but 
still  must  put  an  end  to  it. 

"  The  young  lady  is  not  in  her  room,"  reported  the 
maid. 

"  Look  in  the  garden  !  "  was  the  command. 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  "  The  servant  stood  still.  "  I  do  not 
believe  the  young  lady  is  there,  ma'am.  The  house- 


i  go  A  Poor  Girl. 

keeper  says  that  Miss  von  Hegebach  went  to  the  church- 
yard almost  before  day  this  morning." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  The  old  lady  rose.  "  When  was 
that  ?  " 

"  About  four  o'clock,  madam,  the  housekeeper  says." 

"  And  now  it  is  nine  !     Look  in  the  garden." 

The  girl  went.  Her  mistress  seated  herself  calmly 
in  her  chair  again,  and  stared  out  across  the  yard.  The 
maid  did  not  come.  The  old  lady  would  not  worry. 
Where  could  Elsa  be  ?  She  would  surely  come  soon. 

"  I  cannot  find  Miss  von  Hegebach,"  said  the  servant. 
"  Dora  says  she  had  a  bag  in  her  hand." 

"  Very  well,  she  will  soon  come — 

The  girl  left  the  room.  For  a  while,  the  old  lady 
remained  at  her  post,  then  went  upstairs  to  the  missing 
girl's  room.  All  as  usual — nothing  was  gone  but  the 
little  portfolio,  the  crucifix  over  the  bed,  and  her  prayer- 
book,  but  as  yet  she  did  not  notice  that.  The  chest 
was  carefully  closed,  and  when  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  raised 
the  lid,  there  lay  the  crumpled  white  gown,  carefully 
folded.  "  She  is  coming  back  again.  God  knows  what 
she  intended  doing  this  morning  early." 

Then  she  went  up  to  the  little  table  under  the  book- 
shelves, again  ;  there  lay  a  letter.  "  A  letter — sealed  ?  " 
And  in  a  such  a  scratchy,  new-fashioned  hand-writing. 
The  old  lady  must  first  put  on  her  spectacles.  "  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow,"  she  read. 

She  seated  herself  and  broke  the  seal,  slowly,  very 
slowly,  but  she  had  grown  white  to  the  lips. 


A  Poor  Girl.  191 

"  DEAR,  DEAR  AUNT: 

"  Do  not  think  me  too  unthankful  because  I  secretly  leave 
your  house  in  which  I  have  been  so  very  kindly  treated  all  my  life. 
No  choice  remained  for  me.  I  stood  weaponless  and  weary,  in 
opposition  to  you  all.  I  found  only  sufficient  strength — to  go.  I 
cannot  live  with  a  lie  in  my  heart.  I  could  not  bring  my  lips  to 
utter  the  truth.  I  wished  to  yesterday,  when  I  stood  with  Mr.  von 
Hegebach  beside  papa's  grave — and  I  could  not  speak  a  word.  I 
do  not  know  whether  you  understand  me,  aunt.  I  pray  to  God 
that  you  will  judge  me  mildly. 

"  I  will  write  to  Mr.  von  Hegebach  from  D .  where  I  am 

going.  I  know  that  he  is  too  noble  not  willingly  to  give  me  back 
the  promise  which  was  forced  from  me  in  a  moment  of  paralyzed 
will  and  when  1  was  half  fainting  with  fear. 

"  Good-by,  dear  aunt.  I  am  and  remain  always  in  sincere  thank- 
fulness, 

'  Your  deeply  grateful  niece. 

"  ELIZABETH  VON  HEGEBACH.  " 

"P.  S. — I  can  easily  obtain  a  position  of  assistant-teacher  in 
D .  Do  not  worry  yourself  about  my  future." 

The  trembling  hands  dropped  the  letter.  "  Good 
Heavens  ! — how  was  it  possible  ? " 

Once  more  she  raised  the  letter  to  her  eyes  as  though 
she  could  not  have  read  it  correctly,  then  looked  at  her 
watch,  and  rising  went  to  her  room  as  though  bowed  by 
a  heavy  weight.  She  rang  the  bell,  and  with  averted 
face,  ordered  the  maid,  "Ask  my  son  to  come  here." 

"  The  Baron  has  gone  out  riding,"  was  the  answer. 

She  went  into  her  bed-room  and  began  to  gather  to- 
gether all  things  necessary  for  a  journey.  But  she 
always  took  up  the  wrong  articles,  frequently  put  her 


192  A  Po0r  Girl. 

hand  to  her  head ;  finally  she  consulted  the  time-table. 
The  train  to  Halle  left  at  eleven  o'clock. 

She  rang  once  more  and  ordered  the  carriage,  and 
directed  that  John  was  to  take  a  note  to  the  Bennewitzer 
at  once. 

"  Mr.  von  Hegebach  is  in  the  city  ;  I  saw  his  carriage 
this  morning,"  remarked  the  girl,  timidly. 

Had  everything  gone  wrong  this  morning  ?  "  Very 
well,"  said  she  again,  but  her  anger  began  to  rise.  This 
was  the  thanks  for  all  her  kindness  !  Elsa  ran  away  like 
a  romance  heroine ;  in  her  boundless  thoughtlessness  she 
thrust  from  her  all  that  through  most  unlooked-for  good 
fortune,  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  her,  the  homeless  one  ; 
she  compromised  herself  and  the  house  in  which  she 
had  found  a  home.  The  gentle  girl  with  the  mild  brown 
eyes,  where  had  she  gotten  this  unfortunate  energy  ? 
But  she  must  not  yield  to  her  ;  the  letter  to  the  Benne- 
witzer must  be  prevented  at  any  price. 

She  went  to  her  secretary  and  wrote  a  telegram  to  the 

principal  of  the  institute  at  D ,  telling  her  to  persuade 

Elsa  not  to  write  a  line  before  she  had  had  an  interview 
with  her ;  she  would  come  by  the  night  train,  and 
begged  hospitality.  She  sent  one  servant  with  the 
sealed  dispatch,  and  wrote  to  the  Bennewitzer — he  must 
be  found  in  the  hotel,  the  court-house  or  the  club — that 
he  must  not  come  here  to-day.  They  would  be  forced 
to  deceive  him  as  to  the  reason,  but  how  hard  it  was 
with  this  honest,  sincere  nature.  She  tore  the  third  sheet. 
Elsa  had  a  headache,  she  had  thought  of  writing  first, 


A  Poor  Girl.  193 

but  he  would  surely  learn  that  she  had  gone  out.  She 
had  been  forced  to  leave  home  suddenly — Pah  !  where 
could  she  have  gone  ?  He  would  at  once  know  that  all 
was  not  in  order.  No,  she  could  not  lie.  Come  what 
would,  she  saw  no  help  for  it. 

"  If  Moritz  were  only  here  !  " 

"A  messenger  from  Mr.  von  Hegebach."  The  girl 
brought  a  bouquet  of  May-flowers  for  Miss  von  Hege- 
bach, and  a  note  to  Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 

"  Carry  the  bouquet  to  Miss  von  Hegebach's  room," 
she  commanded,  and  then  broke  the  seal  of  the  note. 

It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  My  intention,  my  dear  madam,  to  dine  with  you  to-day 
has  unfortunately  become  impossible  to  fulfil.  I  must  at  once  re- 
turn to  Bennewitz,  as  I  expect  the  building  commissioners  of  the 

M Railway,  which  is  to  cross  my  land.     Forgive  my  haste.    I 

hope  to  be  able  to  pass  a  few  hours  with  you  and  my  Jiancte' to- 
morrow in  your  pleasant  home. 

"  Sincerely  yours, 

"  HERMANN  VON  HEGEBACH." 

"  Thank  God,  a  respite  is  won  !  "  Mrs.  von  Ratenow's 
courage  rose  again.  She  could  take  the  eleven  o'clock 
train ;  she  could  surely  count  upon  sister  BeataV  assist- 
ance. The  girl  must  not  thus  trample  upon  her  happi- 
ness. She  continued  her  preparations.  Good  heavens, 
what  she  had  to  do  for  this  defiant  girl !  How  she 
hated  railway  travelling  ;  and  she  must  change  cars  in 
Halle.  Ah,  and  the  horrible  confusion  in  Halle.  Sud- 
denly a  new  idea  occurred  to  her  ;  she  had  heard  the 


1 94  A  Poor  Girl. 

sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  went  to  the  window. 
Truly,  it  was  he. 

"  Moritz  !  "  she  called  loudly. 

He  bowed  and  smiled.     "  Immediately,  mother." 

He  attended  to  all  kinds  of  business  first ;  she  heard 
him  speaking  to  the  gardener  in  the  hall  ;  at  length  he 
appeared. 

"  Good  heavens,  my  boy,  how  slow  you  are  !  "  said 
she,  irritably. 

"  Were  you  in  a  hurry,  dear  mother  ? " 

"  It  is  a  quarter  past  ten,  Moritz,  and — will  you  do 
me  a  favor,  Moritz  ?  You  know  how  I  hate  to  travel — 

you  go  to  D ,  speak  to  Elsa  ;  she  always  thought  the 

most  of  you.  You  know  nothing  as  yet,  Moritz  ;  do 
not  know  that  the  girl  has  run  away.  Or — yes  ! 
Moritz,  did  you  know  anything  of  it  ?  "  She  looked  at 
him  closely. 

He  remained  so  calm  in  spite  of  her  hasty  words. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  saw  her  go  away." 

"  Moritz  !  And  you  did  not  prevent  her,  did  not  try 
with  all  your  might  to  dissuade  her  from  her  crazy, 
sentimental  idea  ?  " 

There  he  stood,  so  large  and  broad-shouldered. 

"  No,  mother  !  "  And  he  picked  up  his  riding-whip 
from  the  table,  and  twisted  it  in  his  hands,  as  defiantly 
as  when  he  was  a  boy,  when  things  went  contrary  to 
his  wishes.  "  No,  mother.  I  had  no  right  to  do  so." 

"  Good  heavens,  Moritz  !  "  The  old  lady  had  be- 
come crimson  with  rage. 


A  Poor  Girl.  195 

"  No  right !  "  he  repeated.  "  Neither  I  nor  you, 
mother ;  no  one  has  the  right,  thank  God,  by  our  laws  to 
force  a  girl  to  marry  against  her  will." 

"  It  is  simply  maddening  !  What  fine  speeches  are 
these  !  Who  forced  her  decision  in  the  final  moment  ?  " 

"  Every  one  and  everything  !  People,  circumstances, 
life  and  death,  mother.  And  her  own  heart  cried  '  No  ! ' 
But  no  one  would  hear  it." 

"But  why,  Moritz  ?  Can  you  not  see  the  reason  ?  Is 
it  not  madness  in  her  position  ? " 

"  Reason  ?  Yes.  Do  not  ask,  mother.  Who  has  ever 
fathomed  the  mystery  which  attracts  a  heart  to  one  and 
turns  it  from  another  ?  " 

"  You  speak  like  a  romance  writer,  Moritz.  Pray  look 
about  the  world.  It  is  day,  bright  day  ;  human  life  is 
prosaic,  no  idyll ;  it  is  a  struggle  and  conflict,  and  each 
person  must  look  out  for  himself." 

"  And  what  turns  the  wheels  is  love,  mother;  and  love 
will  not  be  driven  from  the  world,  however  the  realists 
may  try.  Love  and  fidelity — they  are  in  the  blood  of 
us  Germans,  mother."  He  nodded  gravely.  "  I  cannot 
explain  it  to  you,  it  requires  finer  words  than  I  have  at 
my  command." 

"  Love  ?  "  The  old  lady  burst  out.  "  Love  ? "  she 
repeated.  "  You  mean  the  little  Lieutenant.  What  is 
he  in  comparison  to  the  Bennewitzer  ?  A  nobody,  a 
good-for-nothing  ;  he  has  drawing-room  manners  and 
can  play  the  violin  a  little — voila  tout." 

"  I  merely  know  that  he  is  an  agreeable  man,"  per- 


196  A  Poor  Girl. 

sisted  Moritz.  "  But  nevertheless  this  is  a  mystery. 
Love  does  not  ask  for  outward  things,  for  position, 
charms;  and  then — a  good-for-nothing,  mother  ?  Con- 
fess frankly  that  if  Bernardi  were,  well  say  for  example, 
the  Bennewitzer's  son,  how  then  ?  " 

"  Then  it  would  be  quite  different,  my  boy.  Cease 
your  sentimental  nonsense.  Will  you  go  ?  "  she  asked, 
dictatorially.  "  Will  you  once  more  speak  to  Elsa,  lay 
the  whole  matter  before  her?  For  —  absurd  —  she 
certainly  can  not  marry  her  Bernardi.  He  has  probably 
long  ago  forgotten  her  besides." 

"  In  one  thing  I  admit  that  you  are  right,  mother — 
he  cannot  marry  her  at  present.  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  has  forgotten  her,  but  do  not  believe  so,  for 
this  morning  Rost's  valet  brought,  in  Bernardi's  name, 
a  beautiful  wreath  for  the  grave.  But  as  to  going  after 
Elsa — no,  mother.  I  have  just  given  you  my  opinion, 
I  shall  not  persuade  the  child." 

"  Good  ;  then  I  go  !  " 

"  Do  not,  mother  dear  ;  it  is  not  right." 

"  Shall  she  reproach  me  later  when  she  has  become  a 
nervous  old  governess  ?  "  she  asked.  "  1  shall  do  my 
duty  !  " 

"  It  is  useless,  mother,  especially  now,  in  her  fearful 
excitement." 

"  God  helps  those  who  help  themselves  !  "  said  she. 
"  You  are  the  same  old  enthusiast !  "  And  she  went  into 
her  bedroom. 


XV. 


THE  express  train  whirled  her  along  the  same  road 
over  which  she  had  travelled  before,  but  then  it  was  an 
autumn  foggy  evening,  and  her  heart  had  been  full  of 
happy  expectation  ;  now  it  was  a  spring  morning,  and 
the  sun  shone  in  the  carriage  window  so  pitilessly,  ex- 
posing every  spot  and  hole  in  the  shabby  cushions. 
The  little  mirror  opposite  reflected  a  pale  face  with  a 
weary  expression  about  the  mouth  ;  and  this  was  she, 
Elsa  von  Hegebach.  She  leaned  back  against  the 
cushion  exhausted,  her  eyes  gazing  unchangedly  at  the 
flying  landscape.  She  did  not  see  that  the  world  basked 
in  all  the  splendor  of  spring,  her  young  heart  was  so 
terribly  gloomy  and  empty. 

Now  she  had  burned  her  bridges  behind  her;  now  she 
had  no  one  who  understood  her,  no  one  !  Even  Aunt 
Lott  had  written  in  a  strang?  half-sentimental,  half- 
jubilant  tone,  that  it  was  a  great  happiness  which  had 


198  A  Poor  Girl. 

fallen  to  her  lot,  an  enviable  happiness  to  have  drawn 
such  a  prize.  Happiness  !  People  called  that,  happi- 
ness !  And  what  ?  To  bear  the  name  of  a  man,  to 
share  his  wealth,  to  have  no  care  for  the  thousand 
material  needs  of  life — that  was  their  happiness  !  And 
for  that  she  must  give  up  everything,  her  liberty,  her 
thoughts,  her  hopes,  even  herself,  body  and  soul  !  A 
nervous  shudder  overcame  her  ;  she  closed  her  eyes. 
"  Never  !  "  said  she,  so  loudly  that  she  started  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice,  and  the  old  lady  opposite  her 
looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

She  lowered  her  lashes  without  noticing  it  ;  she  saw 
only  a  dark  red  glow  before  her  eyes,  and  in  this  glow, 
nearing  and  then  fading  away  as  soon  as  she  tried  to 
see  it  plainly,  a  dark  curly-haired  man's  head,  with  mel- 
ancholy eyes  and  a  little  black  moustache.  Above  the 
noise  of  the  train,  she  seemed  to  hear  sleigh-bells,  and 
inhale  the  perfume  of  violets.  And  yet  he  had  turned 
from  her,  had  deserted  her — because  she  was  a  poor  girl ! 

She  started  suddenly. 

"  Dear  child,  are  you  ill  ?  "  asked  a  sympathetic  voice, 
and  an  old  woman's  face  was  bent  over  her. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  she  hastily,  flushing  deeply.  "  But 
I  did  not  sleep  last  night,  and ' 

"  Pardon  me  ;  you  groaned  so,  my  dear  young  lady." 
The  lady  seated  herself  again  and  opened  a  sachel  in 
which  lay  a  number  of  little  bunches  of  violets.  "  My 
grandchildren  picked  them  for  me  ;  may  I  offer  you 
one  ?"  And  she  held  out  the  sweet  flowers  to  the  girl. 


A  Poor  Girl.  199 

The  little  hand  grasped  them,  but  she  uttered  no 
thanks.  The  giver  merely  saw  that  she  hastily  drew  her 
black  veil  over  her  face,  and  beneath  that,  pressed  the 
flowers  to  her  lips  ;  after  a  while  she  thought  she  heard 
sobs,  but  such  strange  sobs,  as  though  one  were  weep- 
ing with  dry  eyes.  "Already  unhappiness,  and  she  is 
so  young,"  she  whispered,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

All  was  change  on  the  railway  ;  at  times  the  carriage 
was  full  for  a  short  distance,  then  it  was  empty  again. 
And  now  the  old  lady  left  the  train.  She  stood  on  the 
station  platform,  and  gazed  after  it  as  it  slowly  rolled 
away.  She  would  have  liked  to  see  the  sad  childish 
face  again  ;  in  vain,  she  sat  as  motionless  among  the 
cushions  as  ever. 

And  now  slowly,  slowly  Elsa  reached  her  destination. 
She  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  well-known  station  ; 
it  seemed  to  her  as  though  she  were  dreaming.  The 
blue  Thuringian  mountains  rose  in  the  distance,  as  she 
had  seen  them  a  hundred  times.  Ah,  the  beautiful  for- 
est, the  great,  broad,  solitary  forest,  how  happy  she  had 
been  when  she  walked  through  it  !  And  here  it  lay 
before  her,  the  village  with  its  scrupulously  clean  streets, 
the  neat  old  houses  in  which  behind  every  window 
bloomed  flowers  ;  down  there  the  plain  little  church,  and 
near  by  the  shady  green  churchyard.  All  so  unchanged ; 
only  she — only  she  ! 

Hastily  she  walked  on  down  the  street,  past  the 
long  fence  and  through  the  garden.  Not  a  soul  to  be 


200  A  Poor  Girl. 

seen — thank  fortune  !  They  were  all  at  work  in  the 
school-room  as  yet.  The  narrow,  dazzlingly  white 
stairs  creaked  softly  as  the  girl  ascended.  How  natural 
that  sounded !  She  knew  this  creak  so  well.  And  hark ! 
Then  she  heard  the  canary-bird  singing  in  Sister  Beata's 
room. 

She  knocked  and  slowly  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
little  room  in  her  mourning  clothes,  with  the  gloomy 
veil  over  her  pale  face. 

"  Elizabeth  !  "  said  a  deep,  calm  voice.  "Is  it  really 
you,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

And  a  little  old  woman  in  the  dress  of  the  Moravian 
Sisterhood  came  up  to  her,  a  pair  of  indescribably  mild 
eyes  gazed  into  her  grief-stricken  face. 

"  Sister  Beata,"  she  tried  to  say,  but  she  could  not ; 
she  merely  threw  both  arms  around  the  old  woman's 
neck,  and  all  the  torment  of  the  past  few  days  found 
vent  in  convulsive  weeping. 

"  You  are  in  mourning,  poor  child  ?  " 

"  My  papa — "  she  stammered. 

The  little  sister  pressed  her  hand  gently  and  led  her 
to  an  old-fashioned  sofa.  "  First  calm  yourself,  Eliza- 
beth ;  we  will  talk  later.  Come,  take  a  cup  of  coffee. 
I  knew  that  you  were  coming — a  despatch  has  arrived." 

"  From  whom  ?  "  The  girl  looked  at  the  speaker  in 
horror.  "What  do  they  want?  What  does  the  tele- 
gram say  ?  "  she  added  hastily. 

"  I  must  prevent  you  from  writing  a  letter,  child,  and 
then — your  aunt  will  arrive  this  evening." 


A  Poor  Girl.  201 

Elsa  sat  there  silent  and  trembling.  "  She  will  not 
let  me  !  "  she  sobbed  at  length.  "  Sister  Beata,  help 
me  from  sinning  as  only  a  girl  can  sin  ;  save  me  from 
ruin  !  " 

"  Elizabeth,  you  are  beside  yourself,"  said  the  sister's 
calm  voice  reprovingly. 

Elsa  was  silent,  and  the  hands  which  involuntarily 
she  had  clasped  sank  in  her  lap.  She  gazed  gloomily 
and  with  close  scrutiny  at  the  passionless  face  before 
her. 

"  Sister  Beata,"  she  began,  in  a  totally  changed  voice, 
"  you  told  me  when  we  parted  that  I  could  always  find 
refuge  with  you  ;  that  you  could  always  give  me 
employment  in  your  school.  I  come  to-day  to  ask  you 
for  it." 

"  It  is  most  opportune,  dear  Elizabeth.  The  place 
of  Sister  Angelica  in  the  fourth  class  is  free." 

With  these  words  the  speaker  held  out  a  plate  of 
inviting  looking  cake  to  the  young  girl. 

She  declined  it,  however.  "  Where  is  Sister  An- 
gelica ? "  she  asked. 

"  She  has  gone  to  Africa.  Elizabeth,  you  should 
eat;  you  look  so  exhausted." 

"  To  Africa  ?     As  a  missionary,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  will  assist  her  husband,  who  has  a  school 
in  Natal.  The  lot  fell  to  her,  and  so  she  has  gone  ;  she 
left  three  weeks  ago." 

It  sounded  so  calmly,  it  was  said  so  simply,  as 
though  Sister  Angelica  had  driven  to  a  neighboring 


202  A  Poor  Girl. 

town.  Elsa  knew  her  well,  the  delicate  blonde  girl ; 
and  she  also  knew  that  the  society  was  accustomed  to 
marry  its  daughters  by  lot.  She  had  never  thought  of 
it;  now  it  seemed  to  her  something  unworthy  of  human 
beings. 

"And  she  was  willing  to  go,  Sister  Beata  ? "  she 
asked,  and  clasped  her  throbbing  temples. 

"  Willing  ?  That,  she  probably  confided  to  God 
alone,  but  she  knows  that  it  is  His  will ;  she  went 
joyfully." 

All  was  silent  in  the  little  room.  The  air  seemed 
oppressively  close,  to  the  young  girl.  Sister  Beata  now 
sat  by  the  table  before  the  window,  correcting  exercises. 
"  You  should  rest  awhile,  Elizabeth  ;  you  look  pale  and 
exhausted,"  said  she.  The  girl  shook  her  head,  and 
going  up  to  her  laid  her  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Sister  Beata,"  she  began,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  you 
told  me  once— not  so  very  long  time  ago — that  truth  is 
the  only  thing  that  can  save  us  from  need  and  distress ; 
that  it  stands  above  all  other  virtues." 

The  liule  head  under  the  snowy-white  cap  nodded 
assent,  without  looking  up.  "  Certainly,  dear  Eliza- 
beth ;  you  were  always  an  honest,  good  child  as  far  as 
human  intelligence  could  judge." 

"What  I  am  about  to  ask  you  sounds  strangely, 
Sister  Beata,  but  Angelica  wore  no  other  image 
imprinted  upon  her  he?rt  ;  she  did  not  stand  before 
the  altar  with  a  lie  on  her  lips  ?  " 

Now  she  looked  up,  the  quiet  sister.    "  No,  Elizabeth  ; 


A  Poor  Girl.  203 

her  heart  was  like  an  unwritten  page.  We  live  a  quiet 
and  secluded  life  here;  the  passions  which  torment  and 
pain  foolish  human  hearts  out  in  the  world  do  not 
cross  our  threshold,  we  scarcely  know  them  from  hear- 
say. You  must  know  that,  Elizabeth.  What  do  you 
mean  by  your  question  ? " 

The  girl  suddenly  fell  on  her  knees  before  her,  and 
buried  her  head  in  the  folds  of  the  gray  woollen  gown. 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  gone  away  from  here  ;  I  wish 
I  had  never  seen  him  !  "  she  sobbed. 

"Stand  up,  Elizabeth,  and  control  yourself." 

The  sister  stroked  the  girl's  hair  compassionately. 

"Help  me,  Sister  Beata,"  pleaded  Elsa,  looking  at 
her  with  tearful  eyes  ;  "  help  me  not  to  be  wicked  and 
deceitful !  Tell  my  aunt  that  I  must  write  and  tell  him 
the  truth  at  any  price." 

"  Him— Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  him  to  whom  I  have  been  betrothed  for  three 
days." 

Sister  Beata  made  no  reply. 

"You  have  always  been  my  favorite,  Elizabeth," 
said  she,  after  a  moment,  "but  will  you  be  content 
here  ?  Do  not  think  it  so  easy  after  having  been  out 
in  the  gay  world,  to  settle  down  here  as  a  teacher,  to 
have  nothing  but  duty  before  your  eyes  and  the  hand 
of  the  clock  which  points  to  the  hour  for  work.  Once, 
years  ago,  a  dear  scholar  came  back,  weary  of  the 
world,  sick  at  heart,  and  asked  for  work,  begging  me  to 
keep  her  always,  always.  At  first  all  went  excellently ; 


204  A  Poor  Girl. 

she  worked  to  forget  her  sad  thoughts,  the  quiet  and 
regularity  did  her  distracted  nerves  good.  Then  time 
healed  the  wounded  heart,  and  health  came  and  allured 
her  back  to  the  fresh,  happy,  outer  life  ;  her  gaze  became 
more  and  more  longing,  and  one  day  she  said,  '  I  am 
going,  Sister  Beata  ;  I  must  go.  Here  one  creeps  ;  out 
in  the  world  one  flies  !  '  And  she  went.  I  do  not 
know  what  has  become  of  her.  I  only  tell  you  this  to 
make  it  clear  to  you  that  this  is  no  place  to  heal  wounds 
which  the  world  has  inflicted.  If  you  accept  the  posi- 
tion, Elsa,  you  pledge  yourself  for  two  years  at  least. 
Consider  that  well." 

She  still  lay  on  her  knees,  and  wild  thoughts  whirled 
through  her  brain.  Airy  garments  danced  before  her 
eyes,  red  roses  and  floating  scarfs  ;  she  heard  gay  music, 
laughing  and  singing — that  was  life,  that  was  youth. 
And,  like  a  colorless  picture,  she  suddenly  saw  the 
school-room  before  her,  with  its  bare  wall ;  gray,  monot- 
onous gray  was  the  life  here,  and  she  was  so  young  ! 
The  sister's  last  words  weighed  like  lead  upon  her 
heart. 

Hark  !  From  the  adjoining  room  a  sound  rang  out 
in  the  silence,  clear  and  vibrating  ;  a  violin  was  being 
played  in  there.  A  violin  !  Suddenly  she  sobbed  again, 
and  pressed  her  blonde  head  down  on  her  crossed 
,  arms,  which  still  rested  on  the  old  woman's  lap.  Those 
were  the  thorns  of  the  crimson  roses,  the  painful  thorns  ! 

"  I  have  nothing  more  outside  ;  nothing  more,  Sister 
Beata !  "  she  stammered.  "I  will  stay  with  you." 


XVI. 

THERE  were  spare  rooms  in  the  school.  The  hotel 
of  the  little  town  was  very  primitive,  and  occasionally 
a  mother  wished  to  stop  over  in  passing  through,  to 
visit  a  daughter.  A  room  had  been  opened  for  Elsa, 
and  the  best  of  these  modest  apartments  arranged  for 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow. 

The  train  would  arrive  at  nine  o'clock  ;  and  the 
principal  had  gone  to  the  station,  herself,  to  receive  the 
stern  aunt.  Meanwhile  Elsa  sat  in  her  room,  and  with 
increasing  dread  gazed  at  the  driving  clouds,  which  now 
covered  the  moon,  now  exposed  her  round  full  face, 
for  which  teasing  play  she  outlined  them  with  silver. 
What  would  happen  now  ?  Sister  Beata  had  at  length 
learned  all  the  details  of  her  story,  and  told  herself 
that  the  poor  child  had  had  no  choice.  She  was 
sufficiently  acquainted  with  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  from 
her  decided  letters,  to  know  that  there  would  be  a 
harder  conflict  yet. 

According  to  Elsa's  calculation  they  must  have  been 
back  from  the  station  for  some  time  already.  Now  the 
two  who  held  the  threads  of  her  destiny  in  their  hands 


206  A  Poor  Girl. 

were  surely  sitting  in  the  cosey  sitting-room,  fighting  for 
her  so-called  happiness. 

"  Elsa  !  Elsa !  "  cried  a  soft  voice.  "  Are  you  here 
or  not  ?  " 

She  started,  and  her  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  darkness, 
perceived  the  slight  girlish  figure  in  the  door,  and  recog- 
nized the  coquettish  spring  hat,  and  the  small  aristo- 
cratic face  beneath. 

"  Lili  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I  !  "  was  the  answer.  "I  imagined  that  I 
would  find  you  just  this  way,  looking  at  the  moon,  of 
course  ! 

'  Moon,  thou  art  happier  than  I, 
Thou  seest  him,  and  I  see  him  not  ! '  " 

she  continued,  tearing  off  her  hat.  "  Good  gracious,  is 
there  not  a  sofa  here  ?  I  am  frightfully  tired.  Oh, 
Elsa,  this  was  a  wild  idea  of  yours  to  run  away  !  " 

"  You  accompanied  Aunt  Ratenow,  Lili.  She — she  is 
here  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course  !  "  And  the  dainty  figure  threw  it- 
self on  the  white  bed  and  stretched  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent. "  She  would  have  been  sitting  in  all  her  glory  in 
Halle  had  it  not  been  for  me.  Moritz  knew  that  very 
well,  or  else  he  would  surely  have  spared  me  this  journey. 
The  whole  compartment  full  of  mothers,  nurses  and 
babies,  and  among  them  all,  stiff  as  an  Indian  pagoda, 
Aunt,  on  the  hunt  for  you,  and  I — Oh,  Elsa,  why  did 
you  inflict  this  upon  me  ?  This  evening  there  is  a  sup- 


A  Poor  Girl.  207 

per  at  the  Cramms',  and  I  am  so  fond  of  stewed  crabs 
and  asparagus  !  " 

Elsa  did  not  answer ;  she  silently  seated  herself  beside 
the  bed  upon  which  Lili  rested  and  gazed,  anxiously  in 
her  face,  from  which,  in  spite  of  her  complaints,  the  eyes 
shone  with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  satisfaction. 

"Listen,  Elsa;  you  have  furnished  excellent  matter 
for  gossip  in  the  city,"  continued  the  little  lady.  "  I 
must  confess  that  when  Moritz  brought  the  alarming 
news  this  morning,  and  also  the  order  for  me  to  accom- 
pany Aunt  on  her  pursuit  of  the  fugitive,  I  had  no 
greater  desire  than  to  dine  at  the  officers'  mess  to-day. 
I  am  convinced  that  the  bar-tender  will  do  a  flourishing 
business,  in  the  excitement.  One  glass  after  another 
will  be  emptied.  And  Rost  will  surely  have  drawn 
you,  probably  as  a  nun  behind  a  lattice,  and  the  Ben- 
newitzer  kneeling  before  it,  with  clasped  hands,  with 
plumed  hat  and  sword,  and  beneath  written  :  'Knight, 
this  heart  devotes  itself  to  you  in  a  true  sisterly  love. ' 
It  is  really  very  modern,  the  mediaeval  German.  But  I 
should  like  to  know  how  you  happened  to  think  of  this, 
sweet  child  ? " 

She  received  no  answer.  Elsa  stood  at  the  window 
again. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  continued  the  little  chat- 
terbox. "  I  find  the  Bennewitzer  wonderfully  chic  to 
marry.  I  assure  you  if  he  had  wished  me — au  moment ! 
although  I  also  cherish  a  so-called  love,  here."  She 
pointed  to  her  heart.  "  One  must  have  some  one  to 


208  A  Poor  Girl. 

think  of,  you  know,  Elsa,  when  one  reads  poems,  for  in- 
stance Geibel  or  Strachwitz.  For  that,  it  is  highly 
necessary,  but  nevertheless  I  would  have  married  the 
Bennewitzer.  How  charming  for  him  to  see  me  again 
chained  to  another  ;  he  must .  feel  quite  like  Heine. 
'  Ewigverlornes  Lieb — ich  grolle  nicht!  '  One  need  not 
be  miserable  long,  that  is  only  for  poets  ;  but  it  is  inter- 
esting, highly  interesting,  Elsa  !  Elsa,  do  not  be  angry 
with  me,"  the  girl  suddenly  whispered  coaxingly,  and 
two  soft  arms  were  thrown  round  Elsa's  neek.  "  I  am 
not  as  bad  as  I  seem,  and  if  you  will  promise  me  not  to 
cry  any  more — do  you  think  I  do  not  see  that  you  have 
been  crying  ?  I  tell  you,  you  have  cried  your  dear  eyes, 
red — why,  then  I  will  tell  you  something  that  will  please 
you  mightily." 

"  Nothing  will  please  me  now,  Lili,"  was  the  sad  an- 
swer, as  she  leaned  her  forehead  against  the  window 
panes. 

"  I  have  seen  him,  Elsa,"  was  whispered  still  more 
softly,  "  as  large  as  life  and  twice  as  natural  !  " 

"  My — my  cousin  ?  "  groaned  the  tortured  girl.  It 
was  horrible  for  her  to  be  forced  to  hear  how  he  had 
received  this  blow  from  her  hand.  She  saw  him  so 
plainly  before  her,  as  he  had  stood  beside  her  at  her 
father's  grave,  and  looked  at  her  so  kindly,  so  compas- 
sionately. Even  then  she  had  raised  her  hand  for  this 
blow,  but  it  had  sunk  down  powerless. 

"  The  Bennewitzer  ?  The  poor  cast-off  Bennewitzer  ? 
I  do  not  mean  him,"  continued  Lili,  leaning  closer 


A  Poor  Girl.  209 

against  the  trembling  form.  "  We  girls  call  only  one, 
the  very  particular  one,  him.  Nonsense,  Elsa,  do  not 
be  so  childish  ;  you  are  nineteen  years  old,  and  were  at 
boarding-school.  Oh,  yes,"  she  interrupted  herself 
with  a  laugh,  "  with  the  Moravians  ;  I  forgot.  One 
never  learns  anything  with  them,  their  boarding-school 
girls  are  pure,  unsophisticated  angels  at  eighteen  years 
old,  I  suppose.  I  was  at  G ,  and  from  our  school- 
room we  could  look  out  upon  the  parade-ground,  and 
every  one  of  us  called  some  one  down  there,  him.  Well 
then,  I  saw  him  in  Halle — Elsa,  do  you  understand  ? 
He  had  his  violin-case  in  his  hand,  and  wore  civilian 
clothes,  and — well,  not  exactly  of  the  latest  style,  but 
with  the  military  we  close  one  eye  at  that  ;  it  is  more 
practical  in  a  large  city  ;  for  instance,  he  could  drive 
an  omnibus  in  such  clothes  without  attracting  attention 
through  their  elegance.  Well,  Elsa,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

Elsa  did  not  move. 

"And  I  spoke  to  him — do  not  start  so,  Elsa.  Aunt 
did  not  see  it.  She  was  conferring  with  the  porter  on 
the  other  side  of  the  platform.  I  bought  the  tickets — 
there  he  stood  in  the  crowd.  He  is  handsome,  Elsa, 
really.  I  knew  him  too  slightly  to  address  him,  had 
only  danced  with  him  once,  but — I  know  how  to  man- 
age !  Crash  !  my  umbrella  lay  at  his  feet  as  I  passed. 
Of  course  he  picked  it  up.  '  Oh,  thank  you  a  thousand 
times,  Lieutenant  Bernardi  ! '  He  started.  '  I  am  in 
a  great  hurry,'  said  I,  mentioning  my  name,  Lili  Tees- 
feld.  'I  am  going  with  Aunt  Ratenow  to  D ,  to 


2IO 


A  Poor  Girl 


catch  Elsa  Hegebach  ;  she  absolutely  wishes  to  go  into 
a  cloister  ! '  You  should  have  seen  his  face.  '  Yes,  yes, 
into  a  cloister,'  I  nodded,  '  because  she  will  not  marry 
her  cousin.  Good-by,  Lieutenant  Bernardi !  '  I  left 
him  standing,  and  courageously  forced  my  way  through 
the  crowd,  but  just  as  I  was  about  to  get  into  the  ladies' 


compartment,  he  stood  beside  our  train,  and  got  into 
the  next  carriage.  Fortunately,  Aunt  sat  at  the  window 
on  the  opposite  side.  I  needed  air  very  often,  so  did 
he,  especially  at  the  stations.  Meanwhile,  Aunt  inter- 
rupted her  conversations  with  the  nurses, '  Are  you  talk- 
ing to  any  one,  Lili  ? '  Whereupon  I — oh,  well,  I  can 


A  Poor  Girl.  21 1 

look  surprised,  I  assure  you.  In  short  he  knows  all,  and 
I  am  to  be  good,  very  good  to  you.  He  said  that,  as  I 
got  out.  He  went  on  in  the  train.  And  when  I  tell  you 
that  he  sent  a  wreath  for  your  papa's  grave,  and  that  he 
is  now  going  home  on  leave,  I  have  told  you  all." 

Elsa  had  ceased  crying.  She  threw  open  the  win- 
dow, and  leaning  out  gazed  at  the  garden  in  all  its 
spring  beauty,  bathed  in  the  silver  moonlight.  A 
nightingale  sang  sweetly  in  the  linden-tree,  and  her 
heart  beat  almost  to  bursting.  He  thought  of  her ! 
He  had  spoken  of  her  on  the  most  miserable  day  of  her 
young  life  !  Oh,  what  great,  all  too  great  happiness  ! 

And  then  she  drew  back,  closed  the  window  with 
a  bang,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  burst  into 
tears.  Of  what  use  was  it  ?  She  was  only  a  poor  girl ! 


XVII. 

THE  little  Moravian  sat  opposite  the  stately  lady,  in 
the  simple  room.  The  faces  of  both  were  red  ;  they 
could  not  agree.  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  had  thought  to 
find  an  ally,  but  on  the  contrary  had  encountered,  if 
not  an  enemy,  yet  a  power  which  seemed  inclined  to 
remain  perfectly  neutral,  and  which,  although  acknowl- 
edging the  truth  of  much  which  the  old  lady  emphasized 
in  her  decided  way,  yet  pleaded  in  favor  of  Elsa.  The 
calm  little  person  answered  her  like  Moritz  himself,  al- 
though, perhaps,  a  trifle  more  soothingly. 

"  Pray  cease,  my  dear  woman,"  she  at  last  interrupted 
the  sister's  gentle  speech  impatiently ;  "  we  do  not 
understand  each  other.  I  see  that.  You  may  be  right 
from  your  standpoint,  and,  besides,  you  cannot  judge 
my^ position  and  the  child's.  You  turn  here  in  a  con- 
tinual circle  around  your  simple  interests  ;  we  live  in 
the  world,  and  the  world  has  claims  even  upon  Elsa." 

"  But  at  the  price  of  peace,  which  is  higher  than  all 
prudence  !  "  was  the  reply. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  rose. 

"  I  should  like  to  sleep,"  said  she.    "  I  hope  that,  at 


A  Poor  Girl.  213 

least,  you  will   do  nothing  against  my  wishes.     Elsa 
must  go  home  with  me  to-morrow  ;  she  must." 
"  Certainly,  Baroness  ;  Elsa  shall  decide  herself." 
"  I  think  I  will  be  able  to  conquer  the  defiant  girl," 
added  the  old  lady  ;  "  but  tell  me,  my  dear  sister,  have 
you  a  physician  and  apothecary  in  the  place  ?  " 
"  Certainly  !     Do  you  feel  ill,  Baroness  ?  " 
"  Oh,  it  will  pass  ;  it  is  only  in  case  of   accident. 
Sometimes  I  have  an  attack  which  renders  me  inca- 
pable of  moving  ;  and  the  air  in  the  train  was  horrible. 
But  we  will  hope  for  the  best." 

"  But  I  will  prepare  you  a  little  lotion " 

"  Oh,  not  yet,  thank  you ;  only  in  case  of  necessity. 
I  have  not  much  faith  in  such  remedies.  At  home  no 
doctor  comes  near  me.  My  shepherd  is  much  more 
reliable  ;  he  can  rub  and  command  and  conjure  away 
ailments.  Why  do  you  stare  at  me  so  ?  It  is  true,  my 
dear  woman.  I  will  not  see  Elsa  ;  I  have  had  enough 
excitement  to-day.  Tell  her  to  come  to  my  room  to- 
morrow ;  the  other  girl  is  probably  with  her  ?  Well, 
good-night,  then." 

They  had  reached  the  old  lady's  bedroom,  and  with 
the  last  words  she  closed  the  door  in  the  face  of  the 
little  Moravian.  Sister  Beata  heard  her  groan  once,  as 
though  she  were  in  pain.  She  shook  her  head,  and 
went  on  to  the  next  door. 

Miss  Lili  had  seated  herself  at  the  table  between  the 
windows,  was  eating  bread  and  butter  and  soft-boiled 
eggs  and  drinking  a  glass  of  milk  with  all  the  appetite  of 


2H  A  Poor  Girl. 

youth.  Elsa  sat  near,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping,  and 
without  participating  in  the  meal,  watched  the  moths 
that  were  burning  their  wings  over  the  modest  candle. 
Lili's  dainty  little  figure  started  up  quickly  from  the 
chair  as  Sister  Beata  entered,  and  she  curtseyed  to  the 
grave,  simple  woman  as  though  she  stood  before  a 
ruling  princess. 

"  I  come  to  wish  you  good-night,"  said  Sister  Beata; 
"  to-morrow  morning  you  are  to  speak  to  your  aunt, 
Elizabeth ;  she  hopes  that  you  will  accompany  her 
home.  I  urge  you  once  more  to  give  prayerful  con- 
sideration to  your  resolve.  Good-night,  my  dear  chil- 
dren ;  God  protect  you  !  " 

Lili  stared  at  her  with  wide-open  eyes,  then  turned 
to  Elsa,  who  looked  sadder  than  ever. 

"  Elsa,  is  it  true  ;  is  there  a  kind  of  biscuit  here 
which  they  call  'brother  and  sister's  hearts,'  and,  when 
the  dough  is  extra  good,  even  '  loving  brother  and  sis- 
ter's hearts '  ?  "  And  she  seated  herself  and  went  on 
eating  with  great  satisfaction.  "  Please,  please,  let  me 
have  a  couple  for  breakfast  to-morrow  morning,  and 
the  '  loving  '  kind  ;  I  should  be  so  pleased." 

A  smile  crossed  Elsa's  sad  face.  "  You  are  incor- 
rigible, Lili,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  thank  God,"  cried  the  mobile  little  maiden, 
"you  can  still  laugh  !  Oh,  Elsa,  Elsa,"  and  she  knelt 
down  before  the  girl,  "  you  are  all  so  pious,  and  have 
not  the  least  bit  of  confidence  in  God  !  And  yet  I  know 
that  all  will  be  well  with  you,  I  know  it  very  well." 


A  Poor  Girl.  215 

"  You  know  it  ? "  asked  Elsa. 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  explain  ;  it  is  in  the  air,  in  the  spring  air, 
perhaps,  in  the  flowers  and  foliage  out  there,  where  the 
birds  sing  and  the  water  ripples.  Ah,  well,  poor  heart, 
forget  your  torment;  it  will  all,  all  come  right  !  " 

Elsa  shook  her  head,  and  gazed  at  the  fresh,  girlish 
face,  whose  dark  eyes  shone  with  tears. 

"You  are  surprised  at  me,  Elsa?  Have  I  always 
seemed  so  superficial  to  you  ?  I  tell  you  quite  frankly 
that  I  did  not  trouble  myself  about  you,  you  were  so 
fearfully  tiresome  with  your  grief  for  your  only  love, 
long  lost,  and  so  forth — you  were  so  terribly  passive. 
But  when  I  saw  you  so  pale  and  miserable  in  spite  of 
your  fortunate  engagement,  which  every  one  lauded  to 
the  skies,  I  was  sorry  for  you  ;  and  when  you  ran  away 
yesterday,  you  won  my  whole  heart  at  once,  for  that 
was  something  quite  out  of  the  common.  Elsa,  every 
one  would  not  do  that ;  a  hundred  others  would  have 
calmly  let  the  net  be  tightened  around  them,  and 
would  have  become  Mrs.  von  Hegebach.  But  now 
rely  upon  me,  Elsa,  I  will  help  you — and  Moritz  will 
help  you  ;  even  Frieda  is  no  longer  quite  so  angry 
with  you." 

"  Was  she  angry  with  me  ?  "  asked  Elsa,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Why,  child,  were  you  blind  ? "  cried  Lili.  "  Angry  ? 
She  was  furious,  furiously  jealous  of  you  whenever 


2i6  A  Poor  Girl. 

Moritz  even  mentioned  your  name.  The  poor  thing 
had  a  hard  time  of  it." 

Elsa's  pale  face  had  flushed  crimson.  Suddenly  the 
young  wife's  manner,  which  had  seemed  so  puzzling  to 
her,  was  revealed  in  a  glaring  light,  as  was  Moritz's  shy 
avoidance.  She  groaned  in  pain,  "  That  also  !  " 

"Calm  yourself,  sweet  child;  there  was  a  touching 
scene  of  reconciliation  yesterday  between  the  married 
couple.  Frieda  cried  like  a  school-girl,  and  Moritz 
asked  again  and  again,  '  Do  you  see,  Frieda,  how  fool- 
ish you  were  ? '  And  she  cried  pater  peccavt,  more 
gently  than  I  would  ever  have  believed  possible  in  her. 
And  you  will  come  back  with  us  to-morrow,  Elsa,  will 
you  not  ?  You  will  not  stay  here  ?  It  must  be  horribly 
tiresome  among  all  the  loving  brother  and  sister's  hearts. 
You  see,  this  is  what  I  think.  The  Bennewitzer  has 
noticed  something ;  and  if  he  asks,  Moritz  will  tell  him 
the  whole  truth,  and  then  the  engagement  cannot  be 
continued.  Come  back,  Elsa,  dear  Elsa." 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  rising,  "  never  ;  I  cannot." 

Lila  was  about  to  answer,  when  a  heavy  object  was 
thrown  against  the  door  leading  into  the  next  room. 

"Old  people  want  to  sleep,"  thundered  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow.  "  Stop  talking  ;  I  am  worn  out !  " 

Elsa  silently  went  to  bed.  Lili  giggled  continuously. 
Aunt  Ratenow's  resolute  character  was  an  inexhaustible 
source  of  amusement  for  her. 

In  the  night  she  started  up  ;  the  moon  shone  brightly 
into  the  room,  and  from  the  other  bed  she  heard  soft 


A  Poor  Girl.  217 

sobs.  She  touched  the  silky  blonde  hair,  which  lay 
spread  over  the  white  pillow.  "  Elsa,  Elsa,  are  you 
crying  ? "  she  asked  softly.  Then  all  was  still. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  was  awakened  the  next  morning. 
A  special  letter  came  for  her  ;  the  little  principal  herself 
laid  it  in  her  hands. 

"  Merciful  Heaven,  the  Bennewitzer's  hand-writing  ! 
How  did  he  learn  that  she  is  here  ?  "  Her  limbs  felt 
like  lead  ;  with  difficulty  she  raised  herself  in  bed. 
"  Please,  Sister  Beata,  my  spectacles — I  cannot  move. " 

The  little  Moravian  handed  them  to  her,  and  then 
left  her  alone.  All  was  quiet  in  the  room  ;  only  the  soft 
rustle  of  the  paper  in  the  old  lady's  hand  was  heard. 

They  were  only  a  few  words  which  she  read,  but  the 
reader's  face  grew  white  to  the  lips.  Suddenly  she  held 
her  hand  before  her  eyes  ;  she  grew  dizzy.  All  in  vain  ! 
All  was  over ! 

"  Lili !  "  she  cried  ;  her  voice  sounded  like  a  groan. 
The  young  girl  came  quickly,  still  in  her  dressing-gown, 
with  loosened  hair.  "  Give  that  to  Elsa,  and  hurry  and 
dress  yourself."  She  handed  her  the  letter. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  set  out  at  once,  aunt  ?  Shall  I  tell 
Elsa  ?" 

"  Elsa  ?  "  She  started  up  from  the  pillows.  "  What 
have  I  to  do  with  Elsa  ?  Who  sows  wind  must  reap  a 
storm  !  I  hate  ingratitude  and  obstinacy  with  all  my 
heart." 

"  Aunt  !  "  cried  Lili,  terribly  frightened  at  the  ex- 
pression of  the  old  lady's  face. 


2i8  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  Go  !  "  cried  the  old  lady  ;  "  we  leave  in  an  hour." 
The  girl  stood  trembling  before  Elsa,  who  was  just 

fastening  up  her  blonde  braids.  "  Elsa  !  "  she  said.  "  Oh, 

heavens,  aunt  is  so  angry,  so  angry  !  " 

The  little  hand  dropped  the  heavy  braids  and  seized 

the  paper. 

"  MY  DEAR  MADAM  : 

"  In  all  haste — the  letter  is  to  go  by  this  mail.  I  beg  you  to 
give  my  cousin  back  her  liberty  in  my  name.  The  rest  by  word 
of  mouth — later.  Yours  sincerely, 

"  H.  VON  HEGEBACH." 

For  a  moment  the  girl's  chest  heaved  as  though  freed 
from  a  fearful  weight.  Then  she  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  a  shudder  shook  her  frame. 

"  Elsa,  Elsa !  "  cried  Lili,  clasping  her  in  her  arms. 
But  Elsa  freed  herself  and  turned  the  knob  of  the  door 
leading  to  Mrs.  von  Ratenow's  room.  The  door  was 
locked. 

"  Is  it  you,  Lili  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady. 

"  No,  it  is  Elsa,  aunt,"  she  cried  pleadingly. 

All  was  silence. 

"  Aunt,"  sobbed  the  girl,  her  voice  half-suffocated. 

Again  no  answer.  Only  steps  were  heard,  and  hasty 
preparations  for  departure. 

"  Aunt,  a  word  !  "  Her  hand  pulled  and  turned  at 
the  knob  as  though  in  deathly  terror.  In  vain.  She 
gave  up  her  efforts  ;  for  a  moment  she  remained  motion- 
less, her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  window,  then  looked  at 


A  Poor  Girl.  219 

Lili.  It  seemed  as  though  she  wished  to  smile  but 
tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  a  full  consciousness  of  her 
desolateness  overcame  her  at  this  moment.  Now  in 
truth  she  had  nothing  left  her  in  the  world. 

An  hour  later,  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  paced  up  and  down 
the  platform  of  the  railway  station,  leaning  on  Lili's 
arm,  as  they  waited  for  the  train.  The  old  lady  was 
suffering  ;  one  could  see  that,  by  the  lips  so  tightly 
pressed  together.  She  felt  far  from  happy  ;  she  could 
have  wept  if  she  had  known  how.  She  had  wept  once 
in  her  life,  not  when  her  husband  was  laid  in  his  grave, 
but  when  she  had  taken  a  little  crying  child  from  her 
dead  mother,  in  her  own  arms.  "  There  is  no  gratitude 
in  the  world."  And  she  began  to  find  fault  with  the 
train  for  being  so  late,  with  the  porters  for  staring  at  her, 
with  the  despicable  coffee  at  the  school,  and  her  aching 
head  ;  while  Lili  walked  silently  beside  her,  with  a  miser- 
able face  and  tearful  eyes,  and  turned  as  often  as  pos- 
sible to  look  back  at  the  pointed  gables  of  the  house 
half-hidden  among  the  trees,  as  though  she  must  see  a 
window  open  and  a  girl's  head  leaning  out  gazing  over 
the  landscape  with  longing  eyes. 

"And  nothing  else  have  I  to  claim  or  to  keep 

Save  only  two  brown  eyes  with  which  I  may  weep." 

Lili  could  not  banish  from  her  thoughts  to-day  these 
words  which  Elsa  had  once  sung.  And  then  came 
the  train. 

Eight  days  later  a  gentleman  passed  the  little  lonely 


220  A  Poor  Girl. 

Moravian  village,  in  the  express  train.  The  train  did 
not  stop,  but  the  young  man  stood  at  the  window  of  the 
coupe,  and  gazed  out  as  intently  as  though  it  were  the 
most  beautiful  country  through  which  he  was  being 
whirled.  Then  he  seated  himself,  pushed  aside  a  violin- 
case,  drew  out  his  pocket-book  and  taking  from  it  a 
letter  began  to  read  : 

"  MY  DEAR  BERNARDI  : 

"You  have  placed  a  pistol  at  my  breast,  and  although  I  do 
not  like  to  write  letters,  least  of  all  letters  of  a  sentimental  nature, 
I  will  nevertheless  attempt  it  if  it  will  satisfy  you  as  you  say. 

"  There  is  little  satisfactory  about  the  matter — for  you,  that  is.  I 
confess  that  my  hardened  soldier  heart  was  somewhat  touched  as 
I  thought  of  a  certain  ball  evening  when  I  felt  called  upon  to  give 
you  some  good  advice. 

"  It  is  really  true  :  little  Elsa  von  Hegebach,  one  morning  very 
early,  left  her  warm  nest  in  the  castle,  the  most  devoted  of  aunts, 
and  a  paternal  fianc^,  in  order  to  weep  in  the  quiet  of  a  Moravian 
colony,  over — I  do  not  know  what,  perhaps  you  may.  All  sensible 
people,  and  you  know  how  many  such  persons  our  city  walls  are 
fortunate  enough  to  contain,  shrug  their  shoulders  and  smile.  It 
is  no  longer  the  fashion  nowadays  to  take  to  one's  heels  from  a 
wealthy  lover  ;  romances  now  begin  at  the  other  side  of  the  altar, 
and  then  it  is  so  much  more  piquant.  The  resolute  little  girl  has 
drawn  down  upon  herself  the  greatest  displeasure  of  old  Mrs.  von' 
Ratenow,  who  with  her  practical  views  of  life,  cherishes  justified 
doubts  as  to  her  adopted  child's  sanity.  She  herself  has  returned 
seriously  ill  from  her  pursuit.  She  was  carried  from  the  carriage 
to  her  bed.  According  to  all  reports  to-day  she  is  still  far  from 
well. 

' '  I  need  not  assure  you  that  our  society,  especially  the  little  clique 
of  ladies,  have  ample  material  for  gossip  ;  and  that  the  name 


A  Poor  Girl.  221 

'  Bernard! '  is  frequently  mentioned,  you  perhaps  suspect.  And 
alas,  with  right !  ' '  Tis  that  which  saddens  my  heart ! '  says  a  poet. 
For  what  is  to  come  of  it  all  ?  It  is  a  pity  about  the  pretty  girl, 
but  who  is  to  blame  ?  It  is  not  your,  and  not  her  fault.  It  is  all 
on  account  of  money,  everything  depends  upon  money.  Why  are 
you  not  a  wealthy  baron,  with  a  half-dozen  estates  ?  Why  does 
man  need  so  much  for  his  pitiful  existence  ?  Yes,  why  ?  I  will 
cease  to  question  ;  I  am  really  becoming  sentimental.  I  cannot 
banish  from  my  thoughts  the  little  girl  with  the  longing  brown 
eyes.  You  should  have  seen  her  the  day  of  the  funeral. 

' '  Do  not  think  that  I  regret  having  told  you  the  truth  at  that  time; 
assuredly  not,  it  was  my  duty.  She  will  probably  forget,  even 
although  less  easily  than  others.  And  do  not  despair  ;  you  cannot 
help  her.  Man  is  the  slave  of  his  circumstances. 

"  Farewell,  Bernardi. 

"  Yours, 

"  VON  ROST." 

How  often  the  letter  had  already  been  read  ;  how 
often?  Now  it  was  put  back  in  his  pocket,  and  the 
owner  sat  and  stared  at  one  spot  as  though  he  could 
there  find  the  answer  to  the  "  why  ?  "  contained  in  the 
letter.  A  number  of  plans  passed  through  the  young 
man's  mind  ;  he  gnashed  his  teeth  in  mad  rage.  "The 
slave  of  his  circumstances  "  ! 

The  train  rushed  past  a  station  at  the  edge  of  a  forest. 
In  the  warm  May  sun,  under  the  young  leaved  birches, 
sat  on  the  door-sill  a  young  woman  with  a  child  in  her 
lap.  The  man  stood  at  the  gates,  and  the  young  woman 
gazed  smilingly  at  the  train  as  it  rushed  on.  Suddenly, 
bitter  envy  overcame  him.  The  children  of  the  people 
love  each  other,  marry,  and  are  happy  ;  if  they  have 


222  A  Poor  Girl. 

nothing  to  eat,  they  are  hungry  together  as  they  work 
together.  And  why  not  ?  Elsa  too  would  have  worked 
with  him,  and  hungered  with  him ;  he  had  read  that  in 
her  dear  eyes.  Absurd  !  The  children  of  rank  dragged 
behind  them  the  heavy  velvet  robe  of  duties  of  their 
rank,  which,  made  up  of  thousands  of  bits  and  frag- 
ments, forms  a  magnificent  whole.  This  robe  seems  so 
incomparably  comfortable  and  agreeable  to  the  wealthy, 
but  so  weighs  upon  the  poor  that  only  with  great  diffi- 
culty is  it  kept  upon  the  shoulders  ;  but  yet  one  dare  not 
be  seen  in  these  higher  circles  without  it— oh,  no  ! 
How  much  misery  and  grief,  how  many  disappointed 
hopes,  how  much  renunciation  it  covers  ! 

It  is  so  necessary  !  Without  this  robe,  society  cannot 
be  thought  of,  it  belongs  to  it ;  it  would  be  absurd  to  con- 
tradict this.  The  majority  wear  it  so  easily  ;  the  few 
who  fancy  they  are  suffocating  under  it — pah  !  Well, 
they  suffocate,  but  they  finally  become  accustomed  to 
it.  Elsa  will  console  herself  ;  and  for  him — perhaps 
there  will  soon  be  a  war. 

"  Elsa  will  not  console  herself  !  "  said  an  inner  voice, 
"  Elsa  will  mourn  away  her  youth,  and  become  a  soli- 
tary, embittered  old  maid,  the  sunny,  charming  girl." 
And  he  pondered  on  almost  feverishly,  as  for  so  many 
previous  days.  But  what  could  he  do  ?  Should  he 
choose  another  profession  ? 

Then  suddenly  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  stood  before  him, 
and  her  diamonds  sparkled  as  on  that  evening. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  in  another  calling  one  can  live 


A  Poor  Girl.  223 

on  air  ?  And  do  you  believe  that  you  will  be  satisfied 
when  you  have  put  off  the  gay  coat  ?  " 

And  now,  as  countless  times  before,  he  fancied  him- 
self a  merchant — without  capital  ?  A  farmer — to  re- 
main an  inspector  for  his  whole  life  ?  Artist — should 
he  increase  the  throng  of  those  who  never  rise  above 
mediocrity,  and  are  bitter  and  depressed  because  they 
feel  that  they  will  never  reach  their  desired  aim  ?  It 
sounded  pitiless  but  yet  was  true. 

Rather  would  he  resign,  and  seek  his  fortune  across 
the  ocean.  But  his  old  father,  and  his  mother  who  had 
saved  every  penny  to  fulfil  his  ardent  desire  to  be  a 
soldier! 

Farewell,  ye  dreams  ;  farewell,  Elsa  !  The  slave  of 
his  circumstances — what  can  a  slave  do  ? 

"He  has  come  back  more  irritable  than  he  went 
away,"  said  his  comrades,  when  the  next  morning,  after 
review,  they  walked  down  the  street  to  their  barracks. 
"  Foolish  fellow  !  He  really  still  clings  to  his  unhappy 
love,"  added  one,  smiling  ;  "  incredible  at  the  present 
day  ! " 


XVIII. 

IT  was  again  autumn.  The  wind  carried  on  a  mad 
frolic  with  the  leaves  in  the  castle  garden,  and  the 
clusters  of  wild  grapes  over  the  veranda  were  deep 
purple.  A  small  fire  burned  on  the  hearth  in  old  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow's  room,  and  the  inmate  sat,  erect  as  ever, 
at  the  window  knitting  and  gazing  into  the  yard.  Her 
face  was  no  longer  so  full ;  she  had  changed,  her  severe 
illness  in  the  spring  had  not  been  without  effect  upon 
her.  Slowly,  slowly  she  had  recovered.  She  had  been 
in  Baden-Baden  the  past  summer,  only  to  be  terribly 
homesick  there.  Frieda  and  Lili  who  accompanied 
her — Moritz  had  remained  at  home — had  had  full  oppor- 
tunity to  change  their  gowns  three  times  a  day,  to  take 
promenades  and  excursions  with  their  rapidly  made 
acquaintances.  She  was  happy  to  sit  alone  in  the 
garden  before  the  house,  and  hear  nothing  of  the  silly 
noise  and  commotion. 

At  home,  things  went  better.  Aunt  Lott  was  there 
again,  and  could  express  herself  very  plainly  when  the 
topic  of  conversation  was  Elsa.  And  Aunt  Lott  never 
wearied  of  referring  to  this  topic  again  and  again. 


A  Poor  Girl.  225 

"  You  must  admit  that  I  am  in  the  right,  Lott.  The 
child,  in  her  sinful  petulance,  has  trampled  her  happi- 
ness under  foot." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Ratenow — but " 

"  '  But '  ?  There  is  no  '  but '  to  the  matter,  I  should 
think.  Well,  let  her  eat  what  she  has  cooked.  To  com- 
promise herself  and  all  of  us  in  such  a  manner  !  " 

"  Dear  Ratenow,  how  can  you  speak  so  ? "  concluded 
Aunt  Lott,  tearfully.  "  How  can  you  refuse  to  read 
her  letters?  She  writes  so  that  tears  come  to  my  eyes 
when  I  merely  look  at  them." 

And  no  answer  followed,  but  the  conversation  ended 
only  to  be  begun  and  ended  in  the  same  manner  a  few 
days  later. 

Aunt  Lott  corresponded  very  industriously  with  the 
poor  darling.  She  reported  every  trifle  of  castle  news, 
and  conscientiously  delivered  all  messages  with  which 
Elsa  commissioned  her.  But  one  of  the  child's  wishes 
she  could  not  fulfil ;  the  old  lady  could  not  obtain  a 
friendly  word  from  Aunt  Ratenow,  and  she  could  give 
Elsa  no  certainty  as  to  whether  the  Bennewitzer  was 
too  terribly  angry  with  her. 

The  Bennewitzer  was  completely  inexplicable.  He 
came  to  see  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  as  before,  and  recently 
they  had  played  cribbage  together.  He  calmly  smoked 
his  cigar  in  the  drawing-room,  and  once  surprised  the 
old  lady  with  the  information  that  he  now,  like  a  true 
grandfather,  had  provided  himself  at  home  with  a  dress- 
ing-gown and  long  pipe. 
IS 


226  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  But  my  dear  Hegebach ! "  Mrs.  von  Ratenow 
stared  at  him  incredulously,  in  her  eyes  he  was  still  so 
young  and  handsome ;  but  nevertheless  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  hair  on  his  temples  was  very  gray.  He  had 
never  asked  after  Elsa.  But  when  Aunt  Lott,  who  at 
the  girl's  request,  often  visited  her  parents'  graves, 
reached  the  mounds,  they  were  always  covered  with  the 
loveliest  flowers ;  and  the  sexton's  wife  told  that  the 
Bennewitzer  gentleman  had  done  this.  Aunt  Lott  had 
learned  this  with  a  certain  satisfaction,  and  had  thanked 
him  for  it.  "  Why  thank  me  ?  "  he  asked ;  "  they  are  my 
relatives." 

For  the  rest,  everything  went  on  as  usual  in  the 
castle.  Frieda  now  had  a  governess  for  her  children, 
danced  and  went  into  society  as  in  the  past  year. 
Moritz  played  his  whist  and  chatted  with  his  mother — 
only  the  apple  of  discord  was  out  of  the  house.  The 
light,  girlish  tread  was  no  longer  heard  on  the  stairs. 
Elsa  could  come  down  stairs  so  prettily ;  it  was  really 
no  walk,  it  was  rather  a  flying,  the  lovely  figure  was 
suddenly  down-stairs  no  one  knew  how.  She  no  longer 
sang  her  little  songs  in  the  drawing-room,  or  played 
hide-and-seek  with  the  children  in  the  deep  window 
recesses.  Something  was  missing  ;  something  lovely, 
charming.  That,  all  felt,  but  no  one  spoke  of  it.  Only 
sometimes,  in  the  twilight,  Aunt  Lott  fancied  that  the 
door  must  open,  and  she  rush  in  and  call  in  her 
clear,  ringing  voice,  "  Aunt  Lott,  dear  Auntie  Lott !  " 
And  sometimes  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  started  up  as 


A  Poor  Girl.  227 

though  she  heard  that  voice,  but  anxiously  and  plead- 
ingly, "  Aunt,  only  a  word,  a  word !  "  and  then  she 
felt  so  strangely,  half-angry,  half-mournful. 

No  !  If  anything  were  now  to  be  made  of  the  girl 
she  must  be  stern  with  her.  The  Bennewitzer  was 
assuredly  of  her  opinion  ;  and  perhaps  she  would  yet 
become  submissive  in  that  melancholy  nest. 

To-day  the  house  was  quiet ;  Frieda  and  Lili  had 
come  to  show  themselves  to  the  old  lady  in  their 
elegant  silk  gowns,  with  their  flowers  and  laces  in  all 
the  splendor  of  gala  toilets  ;  both  dressed  alike  in  pale- 
blue  and  silver  down  to  their  dainty  slippers.  They 
held  huge  bouquets  in  their  hands,  and  the  yellow 
gloire  de  Dijon  roses  adorned  their  dark  hair  and 
corsages. 

Annie  Cramm  was  to  be  married  to-day. 

The  wedding  was  to  take  place  at  three  o'clock,  the 
dinner  at  four,  and  the  whole  city  was  on  the  qui  vive 
to  see  the  bridal  party  enter  the  church.  There  were 
such  fabulous  rumors  of  the  splendor  which  was  to 
be  seen  ;  and  Aunt  Lott  had  sat  in  the  church  since 
half-past  one  so  as  to  secure  a  good  place. 

Old  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  was  quite  alone  ;  she  thought 
of  the  pair  who  were  probably  at  that  moment  being 
married,  and  what  an  unenviable  wife  Annie  Cramm 
would  make,  however  much  brocade  and  lace  she  might 
wear.  What  a  commonplace  arrangement  it  was ;  a 
marriage  without  the  slightest  mutual  interests.  Well, 
they  had  wished  nothing  better,  and  could  pass  life 


228  A  Poor  Girl. 

very  comfortably  ;  at  least  they  would  have  no  cares. 
And  her  thoughts  flew  to  Elsa ;  she  saw  the  girl  be- 
side Bernardi,  and  heard  her  laugh.  Involuntarily  her 
imagination  replaced  the  other  couple,  who  were  now 
probably  occupying  the  seats  of  honor  at  the  abun- 
dantly-spread table  in  the  bride's  home,  with  these  two. 
And  suddenly  this  table  stood  yonder  in  the  hall,  and 
she  sat  opposite  them,  and 

"  Such  nonsense  !  "  She  coughed  quite  loudly  and 
began  to  knit.  But  the  picture  was  so  attractive  ;  it 
came  back  to  her  mental  view.  Could  there  be  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  such  a  young,  newly-married 
couple,  who  loved  each  other  with  all  their  hearts  ? 

"  Yes,  yes ;  Elsa  was  really  no  worse  than  Annie 
Cramm,  only  she  had  no  money.  Nonsense  !  One 
must  adapt  oneself  to  circumstances  !  " 

Gradually  twilight  came  on.  A  carriage  rolled  into 
the  yard. 

"  The  Bennewitzer  ?  Oh,  I  thought  he  would  be  at 
the  dinner  !  "  But  he  came  in  and  kissed  her  hand. 
"  What  then  ? "  she  asked.  "  Is  it  over  already  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  my  dear  madam  !  "  And  he  drew 
his  chair  quite  near  the  old  lady's  window  seat.  "  I 
only  desired  to  talk  with  you,  to  lay  bare  my  heart  to 
you." 

She  pricked  up  her  ears — at  last  he  spoke.  She 
could  excuse  Elsa,  she  could — good  heavens — per- 
haps— she  dared  not  finish  even  in  thought. 

"  The   dinner    truly   was    excellent    and   the   wines 


A  Poor  Girl.  229 

exquisite.  One  must  acknowledge  that  old  Mr.  Cramm 
has  taste.  The  bridegroom  certainly  behaved  strangely 
for  one  so  lately  married  ;  at  dessert  he  suddenly  left 
his  fairer  half  and  seated  himself  beside  me." 

"  Strange,  assuredly  !  "  agreed  the  old  lady. 

"  Yes  ;  was  it  not  ?  He  does  not  talk  badly,  has 
sensible  views  and  seems  practical." 

"  He  has  proved  that  to-day,"  remarked  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow,  dryly. 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  yes — well — chacun  ct  son  godt.  He  spoke 
of  Elsa  to-day." 

At  length  her  name  had  crossed  his  lips. 

"  She  sent  a  little  present  yesterday.  But  it  was  not 
of  that  that  I  wished  to  speak  with  you,  dear  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  ;  pardon  the  digression." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Had 
the  Bennewitzer  taken  too  much  of  the  "  exquisite  " 
wine  ? 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  can  put  yourself  in  my 
place,"  he  continued,  smoking  comfortably.  "  I  hardly 
believe  so — or  yes  ?  Women  have  an  advantage  ;  they 
are  more  sympathetic  than  the  so-called  stronger  sex. 
I  feel  so  indescribably  lonely.  I  do  not  know  for  whom 
I  live  and  work.  My  whole  house  has  a  melancholy  look 
to  me,  as  though  every  chimney-place  opens  its  mouth 
in  a  monstrous  yawn,  and  asks  me  :  for  what  purpose 
am  I  here  ?  It  cannot  go  on  longer  thus,  my  dear 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  for  it  makes  me  mentally  and 
physically  ill."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "But  I 


230  A  Poor  Girl. 

have  Bennewitz  on  my  shoulders,  and  so  I  have  thought 
of  once  more " 

He  was  silent.  The  ashes  had  fallen  from  his  cigar 
upon  his  clothes  ;  calmly  he  brushed  them  off. 

"  Marrying  ? " — the  old  lady  completed  his  sentence 
anxiously. 

"  No  !  "  said  he  shortly,  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  turned  and  looked  at  him.  It  was 
now  quite  dark  ;  she  could  only  see  that  he  was  looking 
past  her  and  out  of  the  window. 

"No?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  I  think  of  doing  something  quite 
different,  something  which  does  not  concern  me  so 
nearly,  and  in  which  I  need  fear  no  harsh  rejection — for 
that  is  painful.  You  know  no  one  is  without  vanity, 
and  in  spite  of  all  prudent  reasoning,  a  sting  remains." 

The  old  lady  sat  in  breathless  expectation. 

"  I  wish  once  more  to  try  to  bind  a  young  life  to 
mine,  but  in  another  manner — I  wish  to  adopt  a  child." 

It  flashed  upon  the  old  lady  like  lightning. 

"  Hegebach,  you  would — you  could — ?"  cried  she 
joyously.  Then  she  paused.  "But  girls  were  pro- 
hibited from  inheriting  ?  "  said  she  doubtfully. 

"  Girls  ?     Who  spoke  of  a  girl  ?  "  he  asked. 

No  answer ;  only  a  quick,  deep  breath.  The  man  was 
right ;  why  had  Elsa  behaved  so  unwarrantably.  But  it 
is  bitter,  bitter  !  Oh,  the  unhappy  child  ! 

"  What  do  you  say  to  my  plan,  my  dear  Mrs.  von 
Ratenow  ?  " 


A  Poor  Girl.  231 

"  Excellent !  "  she  replied  with  difficulty  ;  and  grief 
for  the  poor  girl,  who  now  must  really  make  her  way 
through  life  alone,  extinguished  almost  all  anger  in  her 
heart. 

"  But  now  I  must  search  for  a  suitable  person,"  said 
the  Bennewitzer. 

"  You  will  find  many  applicants." 

"  Oh,  assuredly  !  "  He  laughed  shortly.  "  A  little 
bit  of  wealth  makes  them  spring  up  like  mushrooms 
after  a  rain.  It  would  be  really  delightful  to  find 
people  who  would  say  '  No  !  '  Eh  ?  But  in  any  case  I 
will  submit  my  choice  to  you  for  approval,  and  I  shall 
begin  my  search  at  once.  Apropos,  how  is  my  cousin?" 

"  I — I  do  not  know  ;  I  suppose  she  is  well,"  answered 
Mrs.  von  Ratenow.  The  Bennewitzer's  manner  fairly 
enraged  her  to-day. 

"  Good  heavens,  my  dear  madam,  you  are  not  angry 
with  her  still  ?  It  is  wrong  in  you,  really  !  Do  you 
know  that  I  have  in  thought  asked  the  child's  pardon  a 
thousand  times  for  our  sins  against  her  ?  Yes,  I  say  our, 
my  dear  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  ;  you,  my  cousin,  and  I  sinned 
against  her.  Our  only  excuse  is  that  we  meant  well." 

"  Of  what  use  is  that  to  her  ? "  thought  the  old 
woman. 

"  I  must  take  leave  of  you  now."  He  rose.  "  You 
think  I  am  doing  right,  do  you  not  ?  One  must  have 
some  one  to  love  and  care  for." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Hegebach  ;  and  may  you  never 
regret  it." 


232  A  Poor  Girl. 

And  when  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  the  old 
lady  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
"  Either  he  has  taken  too  much  wine,  or  he  has  become 
a  trifle  crazy  in  his  old  age  ;  they  are  all  slightly  crazy, 
the  Hegebachs."  That  same  evening  she  wrote  a  letter 
to  Elsa.  The  poor  child  !  To  be  deprived  of  every- 
thing !  But  it  was  her  own  fault.  It  was  a  strange 
letter,  half  reproachful,  half  tender,  and  containing  the 
request  that  the  girl  would  soon  return. 

The  old  lady  did  not  close  her  eyes  that  night.  The 
next  day  she  went  about  with  a  very  thoughtful  air ;  at 
dinner  she  scarcely  spoke  a  word,  and  yet  the  principal 
topic  of  conversation  was  the  Bennewitzer's  newest 
project. 

"  The  man  is  perfectly  right,"  said  Moritz.  "Of 
course  he  wishes  to  leave  his  property  to  a  man  of 
whom  he  is  fond,  and  who  is  legally  entitled  to  it;  other- 
wise it  will  revert  to  the  government.  But  he  could 
leave  Elsa  something  from  his  private  property,"  he 
added. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Aunt  Lott.  "  It  is  an  ignoble  re- 
venge to  thus  leave  her  to  her  fate,  for  he  is  her 
cousin." 

"  As  though  Elsa  would  accept  it  !  "  Lili  drew  down 
her  little  mouth  scornfully. 

"  Oho !  "  said  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  who  until  then  had 
been  silent.  "  She  will  know  now  very  well  what  it  means 
to  look  out  for  herself ;  she  will  gladly  accept  it,  but  he 
would  be  a  fool  to  give  it,  I  think." 


A  Poor  Girl. 


233 


"  You  do  not  believe  that  yourself,  mother,"  said 
Moritz,  taking  her  hand. 

Mrs.  van  Ratenow  had  ordered  her  carriage  imme- 
diately after  dinner.  To  her  son's  great  amazement  it 
stopped  before  the  steps. 

"Where  are  you  going,  mother  dear  ?  "  he  asked  as 
the  old  lady  came  out  in  her  fur  cloak  and  hood — 
the  autumn  day  was  cool — followed  by  a  servant  with 
wraps  and  lap-robe. 

"  To  drive,"  she  replied  shortly. 

Moritz  did  not  answer  ;  he  knew  her  manner  too  well ; 
she  had  something  particular  in  view.  He  respectfully 
helped  her  into  the  carriage,  but  was  forced  to  suppress 
a  smile.  It  was  such  disagreeable  weather  which  had 
enticed  his  mother  out  to  drive. 

The  carriage  rolled  out  of  the  yard  ;  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now  was  still  busy  in  wrapping  herself  up  warmly.  At 
the  city  gate  she  threw  off  the  wraps  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  "  Drive  to  Biistrow  John — but  a  little 
more  quickly." 


234  A  Poor  Girl. 

The  carriage  rolled  along  in  the  dictated  direction  ; 
the  young  fruit-trees  at  both  sides  of  the  road  skimmed 
past  the  solitary  woman's  gaze  ;  the  autumn  wind  rat- 
tled the  carriage  windows  ;  far  in  the  distance  the 
Biistrow  church-tower  rose  above  the  tree-tops.  It  all 
looked  so  dreary,  the  autumnal  landscape  under  the 
cloudy  sky  ;  and  John  drove  on.  Close  to  Biistrow  his 
mistress  ordered  him  to  stop. 

"  Is  that  the  road  to  Bennewitz  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  madam  !  " 

"  Drive  there,  John." 

John  turned  and  drove  quickly,  for  the  first  drops  of 
rain  fell,  and  from  the  black  clouds  one  could  see  that 
the  storm  would  be  severe.  In  ten  minutes,  John  drew 
up  before  the  stately  old  gabled  house.  A  servant 
sprang  out  and  helped  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  to  alight. 

"  It  is  I,  Seeben,"  she  nodded  to  the  surprised  old 
man.  "  Is  the  master  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Will  the  Baroness  come  in  ?  " 

"You  may  drive  to  the  stable,  John,"  she  ordered 
the  coachman,  and  entered  the  house.  She  was  well 
acquainted  with  it  from  former  times,  but,  nevertheless, 
she  was  surprised  at  its  air  of  comfort  and  elegance. 
What  a  beautiful  house  in  the  course  of  years  the  Ben- 
newitzer  had  made  of  the  neglected  old  rattle-trap  ! 
And  what  a  splendid  estate  the  so-called  sandbank 
had  become  under  his  management  ! 

"  Foolish  Elsa !  "  she  murmured,  as  she  stood  in  the 
drawing-room,  so  elegant,  cosey,  and  comfortable,  as 


A  Poor  Girl.  235 

only  a  man  can  make  his  surroundings  when  he  has 
taste,  a  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  abundant  means  at 
his  disposal. 

"  I  will  tell  the  Baron  at  once,"  whispered  the  ser- 
vant, and  drew  one  of  the  soft  easy-chairs  to  the  fire. 
"  He  is  engaged  for  the  moment." 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  seated  herself  and  gazed  at  the 
large  picture  over  the  chimney.  "  His  first  wife,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  Hegebach  always  had  good  taste," 
she  thought,  looking  at  the  woman's  figure,  which 
seemed  stepping  out  of  the  frame  towards  her.  A 
queenly-looking  figure  in  a  soft  white  gown,  her  head 
slightly  thrown  back,  so  that  her  face  was  shown  in 
profile  ;  in  the  background  the  Bennewitz  house  was 
visible  through  the  trees.  On  the  mantel-piece,  at  the 
foot  of  the  picture,  was  a.  jardiniere  filled  with  rare  and 
fragrant  roses. 

"  He  surely  loved  her  very  dearly,"  thought  the  old 
lady  ;  "  and  would  it  not  be  hard  for  her  successor  to  be 
forced  to  share  her  husband's  attentions  with  the  dead. 
Ah,  he  will  never  marry  again  !  " 

She  was  roused  from  her  thoughts,  for  loud  conver- 
sation was  heard  in  the  adjoining  room.  Immediately 
after  the  door  opened,  and  a  lady  of  about  forty  years 
entered,  followed  by  a  slender,  handsome  boy  of  per- 
haps fifteen.  They  passed  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  with  a 
silent  bow.  She  looked  after  them  with  varied  feelings, 
half  astonished,  half  disappointed.  Suddenly  she  shook 
her  head  and  murmured,  "  Ah,  indeed  !  "  as  though 


236  A  Poor  Girl. 

she  had  discovered  something  important,  although 
hardly  agreeable.  She  felt  decidedly  uncomfortable 
and  believed  that  her  coming  here  had  been  useless, 
that  she  herself  and  all  that  she  wished  were  terribly 
superfluous. 

Then  the  Bennewitzer  stood  before  her,  and  drew 
her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,  to  what  do  I  owe  the 
unusual  honor  of  a  visit  from  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  ask,  Hegebach.  It 
is  strange  in  me  so  suddenly  to  fall  upon  you  ;  is  it 
not  ? " 

"  It  is  charming,  my  dear  madam  !  " 

He  pressed  her  down  in  her  chair  again,  and  seated 
himself  opposite  her. 

"  I  cannot  stay  long,  Hegebach.  I  am  afraid  that  I 
disturbed  you — in  an  important  moment." 

"  Not  at  all ;  the  matter  was  already  arranged,"  he 
replied. 

"  He  is  a  handsome  boy,  Hegebach." 

"  The  one  who  just  passed  through  here  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Oh,  a  splendid  fellow  !  " 

"  He  is,  indeed  !  "  she  assented.  Then  they  were 
silent  ;  the  Bennewitzer  had  gone  to  ring  the  bell. 

Now  he  returned.  "  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have 
come,  Mrs.  von  Ratenow,"  he  began ;  "  otherwise  I 
should  probably  have  gone  to  you.  I  am  uneasy  and 
excited  ;  you  know  why.  It  is  a  step  which  is  not  to 
be  considered  unimportant.  Suddenly  to  wish  to  place 


A  Poor  Girl.  237 

a  stranger  at  your  side  ;  to  expect  of  him  all  that  which 
only  the  ties  of  relationship  are  justified  in  demanding, 
love,  consideration,  reverence  ;  to  be  to  this  stranger  all 
that  one  had  been  to  one's  own  children — it  is  some- 
thing peculiar,  my  dear  madam,  and  it  is  not  easy  ;  do 
you  think  so  ?  " 

The  old  lady  nodded.  Her  thoughts  still  dwelt  upon 
the  boy  who  had  passed  through  the  room  shortly  be- 
fore. She  could  no  longer  be  in  doubt.  "  Pardon  me, 
Hegebach,"  she  began,  drawing  a  deep  breath;  "was 
the  handsome  little  fellow  one  of  the  candidates  for  the 
position  of  your  son  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  one  who  with  his  mother " 

"  Oh  no,  no,  my  dear  Mrs.  von  Ratenow  !  I  am  his 
guardian  and  am  greatly  interested  in  him  ;  he  was  my 
poor  Henry's  best  friend,  but " 

"  Forgive  me,  Hegebach  !  " 

Mrs.  von  Ratenow  drew  a  fresh  breath. 

"  But  I  have  entered  into  negotiations  elsewhere 
already,  and  await  news  hourly." 

The  old  lady  again  writhed  with  uneasiness.  "Well, 
my  dear  Hegebach,  I  wish  you  all  happiness  !  "  Sud- 
denly she  rose  ;  it  was  already  quite  dark.  "  I  must 
hurry  home  ;  they  do  not  know  where  I  am  ;  there  is  no 
need  for  me  to  remain  longer — you  will  pardon  me, 
Hegebach.  I  came  to  make  you  a  proposition — I — had 
a  plan.  Now  it  is  too  late.  I  meant  no  harm,  Hege- 
bach." 


238  A  Poor  Girl. 

He  did  not  answer.  All  was  silence  in  the  room;  only 
the  heavy  silk  rustled  as  she  fastened  her  mantle,  and 
the  clock  ticked  softly. 

"  Good-by,  Hegebach.  You  know  old  women  love  to 
pry  into  other  persons'  affairs,  but  it  was  well  meant." 

He  followed  her  silently  to  the  door.  "  Why  in  such 
haste  ?  "  he  at  length  asked,  constrainedly.  "  Will  you 
not  take  some  refreshment,  my  dear  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now  ?  " 

She  declined.  She  had  already  seized  the  door  knob  ; 
then  she  drew  back  a  step.  The  old  servant  entered 
with  a  lamp,  and  handed  the  Baron  a  despatch. 

"  A  moment,  my  dear  madam,"  he  urged,  and  going 
up  to  the  lamp,  tore  open  the  envelope.  "  Read  it  !  " 
said  he  then.  "  I  am  again  unfortunate,"  and  he  handed 
her  the  paper. 

She  raised  her  eye-glass,  and  read  : 
"  Declines  ;  persuasions  useless. 

"  VON  HOST." 

"What  does  that  mean  ?  "  she  asked  hastily. 

"  A  refusal  from  the  son  of  my  choice."  He  had 
paled. 

Aunt  Ratenow  stared  at  the  despatch  ;  her  eyes 
shone.  She  read  the  name  of  the  place  from  which  it 
was  sent,  she  read  the  signature,  and  her  old  heart  beat 
joyously. 

"  And  you  are  very  anxious  for  this  one  ?  " 

"  For  this  one,  just  for  this  one,"  said  he  ;  "  very 
anxious  !  " 


A  Poor  Girl.  239 

"Give  me  power,  Hegebach.  You  scarcely  know 
him  ;  let  me " 

"  I  really  do  not  know  him  at  all/'  said  he  ;  "  one 
fact  alone  determined  me  to  choose  him,  that " 

"  Hegebach  !  "  The  old  lady  went  up  to  the  man 
still  standing  beside  the  table,  his  hand  resting  upon  it 
as  if  in  deep  thought.  "  Hegebach  !  "  She  wished  to 
continue,  but  suddenly  began  to  weep.  Sh«  wept  for 
joy,  and  was  immediately  angry  with  herself  for  shed- 
ding such  copious  tears.  Nothing  was  more  vexatious 
to  her  than  to  be  discovered  in  an  act  of  soft-hearted- 
ness,  and  she  dried  her  eyes  resolutely  and  began  to 
scold.  "  I  really  should  leave  you  to  your  own  devices, 
Hegebach;  really  !  What  a  sly  fellow  you  are  !  But  it 
is  always  thus,  my  dear  man,  when  two  of  the  so-called 
stronger  sex  put  their  heads  together  to  accomplish 
something  very  clever.  Rost !  He  must  have  talked 
well  ;  you  could  not  find  a  better  ambassador  !  Why 
did  I  learn  nothing  of  this  ?  Confess,  Hegebach  !  " 

He  smiled.  "  We  wished  to  surprise  you,  dear  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow,  for  you  surely  had  not  thought  of 
him." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  she,  laughing  amid  her  tears.  "  But 
nevertheless,  old  Mrs.  Ratenow  is  the  best  one  to  attend 
to  the  matter  now." 

Yes,  that  she  was.  Late  in  the  evening  Moritz  learned 
that  his  mother  wished  to  set  out  on  a  journey  the  next 
morning.  She  did  set  out,  and  returned  after  three 
days.  Then  the  Bennewitzer  came,  and  they  left  to- 


240  A  Poor  Girl. 

gether.  This  time  the  others  at  least  learned  their 
destination  ;  they  went  to  Berlin. 

"  Mamma  wishes  to  procure  a  son  for  the  Benne- 
witzer  as  she  was  unsucessful  in  obtaining  a  wife  for 
him,"  declared  Frieda.  "  If  I  could  only  explain  one 
fact  satisfactorily,  Moritz " 

"And  that  is?" 

"  I  always  thought  that  mamma  was  anxious  to  marry 
him  off  merely  for  Elsa's  sake.  But  why  she  assists 
him  in  adopting  a  son  is  a  mystery  to  me.  It  does  not 
concern  her,  eh,  Moritz  ?" 

Moritz  was  ungallant  enough  not  to  answer.  He 
merely  whistled  softly  to  himself. 

In  the  evening  Von  Rost  and  his  bride  came  to  the 
house.  Outside  it  rained  and  stormed,  but  Frieda's 
blue  boudoir  was  delightfully  cosey. 

They  had  soon  returned  from  their  wedding  trip. 
Annie  had  already  travelled  extensively,  and  the  weather 
was  bad  ;  besides  Rost  had  made  out  such  a  remarkable 
route.  Instead  of  going  to  Vienna,  he  had  taken  his 

young  wife  to  the  obscure  town  of  H ,  and  then  he 

had  vanished  for  a  half-day  completely.  "  To  buy  a 
horse,"  he  had  told  Annie  afterwards;  for  with  the  cavalry, 
horse-dealings  were  undoubtedly  justifiable  even  on  a 
honey-moon.  Annie  related  this,  half  laughing,  half 
vexed.  But  the  monster  had  capped  the  climax  by 
taking  her  to  Berlin,  "  to  Berlin,  which  I  know  as  well 
as  my  native  city.  Then  I  lost  patience.  Do  you  know, 
we  saw  your  mother-in-law  there  ?  "  she  concluded. 


A  Poor  Girl.  241 

"  Yes,  mamma  has  a  secret  mission  there."  And 
Frieda  shook  her  head. 

"  The  Bennewitzer  was  also  in  Berlin,"  said  Annie. 

"  Bernardi  also  sent  his  regards  to  every  one,"  inter- 
posed the  young  husband,  adjusting  his  eye-glass  to 
look  at  Frieda. 

"  In  Berlin  ?  "  cried  she,  with  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment. And  Moritz  laughed  in  his  sleeve.  Then  he 
excused  himself  ;  he  wished  to  meet  his  mother  at  the 
railway  station. 

"So,  my  boy,"  said  she,  as  an  hour  later  she  sat  be- 
side her  son  in  the  carriage,  which  rolled  quickly  along 
through  the  dark  winter  evening  to  the  castle.  "  Now 
all  is  arranged.  But  it  took  great  trouble  in  all  direc- 
tions. Will  you  believe  it,  Moritz  ;  Hegebach  even  had 
to  apply  to  the  Emperor.  What  absurd  laws  men  have 
made  to  render  life  more  hard  !  In  a  few  weeks  the 
Bennewitzer  will  have  a  son,  Moritz  ;  and  what  a  son  !  " 


16 


XIX. 


f IjLSA  VON  HEGEBACH  was  just  leaving 
the  school-room. 

It  was  winter.  The  little  Moravian 
village  lay  solitary.  Through  the  bare  branches  of  the 
trees  one  could  plainly  see  the  distant  mountains  which 
already  had  snow  on  their  summits.  In  the  school-room 
wood  fires  crackled  and  the  lamps  must  be  lighted  early. 
Around  and  ahead  of  Elsa  rushed  perhaps  thirty  little 
girls,  sprang  about  in  the  freshly-fallen  snow  in  the 
garden,  with  true  delight,  and  immediately  began  a 
heated  combat  with  snow-balls.  The  young  girl  re- 
mained standing  in  the  house  door,  watching  the  flying 
balls  and  the  romping  children.  A  smile  crossed  her 


A  Poor  Girl.  243 

pale  face  ;  she  had  also  once  frolicked  thus.  She  drew 
in  a  deep  breath  of  bracing  cold  air  ;  it  did  her  good 
after  the  close  school-room. 

Then  she  crossed  the  garden  to  the  rear  of  the  house, 
and  mounted  the  creaking  stairs  ;  now  she  was  alone  in 
her  room,  and  the  best  hour  of  the  day  had  arrived  for 
her.  Then  she  read  or  wrote  letters,  or  sat  at  the  win- 
dow, gazing  out  into  the  distance,  and  thought.  Yes,  of 
what  does  one  think  when  one  is  alone,  and  nearby  a 
violin  sings  old  sweet  melodies  ?  And  Miss  Brown,  the 
English  teacher,  was  accustomed  to  play  all  sorts  of 
music  on  her  violin.  Sometimes  Elsa  could  not  bear  to 
hear  it  ;  those  were  the  days  when  heartache  and  long- 
ing overcame  her  with  full  force,  the  days  when  she 
thought  she  could  not  bear  life.  Then  her  poor  head 
and  heart  ached,  and  her  eyes  pained  from  hopeless 
weeping.  And  she  asked  herself  why  she  alone  was 
miserable,  so  miserable  ? 

Then  she  fled  from  the  tones  of  the  violin,  and  ran 
out  into  the  storm  and  rain,  how  far  she  did  not  know. 
Or  she  went  to  Sister  Beata's  room,  and  sat  there  silently 
for  hours. 

"  I  cannot  listen  to  the  violin,  Sister  Beata." 

"  But  I  will  give  you  another  room,  Elizabeth." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  replied  hastily. 

To-day,  as  if  sunk  in  thought,  she  stood  before  the 
simple  bureau,  whose  upper  drawer  she  had  pulled  out. 
She  took  up  several  papers  and  seated  herself  with  them 
at  the  window.  She  read  them  again,  these  letters  which 


244  A  Poor  Girl. 

she  had  received  perhaps  eight  weeks  ago,  and  which 
had  given  her  such  food  for  thought. 

"  DEAR  ELSA  : 

"  You  know  that  I  was  not  angry  with  you  for  my  sake,  but 
because  you  acted  against  your  own  interests,  and  not  well.  How- 
ever that  cannot  be  changed  ;  you  must  bear  what  you  have  brought 
upon  yourself,  and  God  will  surely  provide  for  you,  although  I  am 
not  pious  enough  to  believe  that  our  whole  path  of  life  is  already 
mapped  out  by  Him  like  an  architect's  plan,  even  while  we  are 
infants. 

"  That  is  a  belief  for  Turks  ! 

"I  say  God  gave  us  intelligence  that  we  might  act  and  judge. 
You  have  not  used  your  intelligence  rightly,  but  allowed  your  fool- 
ish heart  to  conquer  you.  The  consequences  are  worse  than  I 
expected,  but  a  truce  to  this  !  You  will  learn  them  soon  enough, 
and  will  not  be  spared  remorse 

"  Now  I  beg  you,  Elsa,  to  come  back  again  !  You  shall  not  lose 
your  home.  Free  yourself  from  your  engagement  there.  You 
are  needed  here,  and  the  bread  offered  you  is  not  the  proverbial 
bread  of  strangers  which  has  seven  crusts. 

"  I  think  you  will  come  soon  ;  the  winter  evenings  are  long,  and 
I  should  like  to  have  you  read  to  me  as  you  did  last  year.  God 
bless  you  !  Always  your  loving, 

"  AUNT  RATENOW." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No  !  "  said  she  aloud,  and 
laid  aside  the  letter.  "  I  am  no  trained  poodle  which 
jumps  over  a  cane  held  out  to  him.  No  !  " 

She  sat  still  for  a  while,  then  took  up  the  second 
letter ;  it  was  in  Lili's  scrawling  handwriting.  She 
glanced  over  the  description  of  Annie  Cramm's  wed- 


A  Poor  Girl. 


245 


ding,   and   her  eyes   rested  on   the   conclusion  of  the 
letter: 

"  A  telegram  from  Bernard!  also  arrived,"  she  read.  "  But 
now  wonder,  Elsa  ;  the  newly-made  husband  seems  to  have  con- 
ceived a  remarkable  liking  for  the  Bennewitzer !  He  suddenly 


left  his  dear  wife,  and  seated  himself  beside  him,  directly  oppo- 
site me.  They  chatted  away  briskly  but  most  impolitely,  in  an 
undertone.  During  the  time,  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  the 
Bennewitzer.  Finally  they  shook  hands  and  separated.  The  Ben- 
newitzer disappeared  after  the  supper,  and,  as  I  learned  later, 
went  to  see  Aunt  Ratenow.  But  now,  Elsa,  comes  what  I  really 


246  A  Poor  Girl. 

wanted  to  tell  you.  I  have  no  more  hope,  for  the  Bennewitzer 
intends  '  retiring.'  Do  you  know  what  that  means  in  such  a 
case  ?  He  has  already  bargained  for  a  grandfather's  chair  ;  he  will 
never  marry  again.  He  is  about  to  adopt  a  son  !  Your  aunt 
says  this  is  very  sensible,  but  at  heart  she  is  raging,  that  I  can  see, 
for  she  had  intended,  my  love,  that  you  should  reside  at  Ben- 
newitz. 

"  And  her  leaving  you  in  D refusing  to  forgive  you — that 

was  only  a  last  effort ;  she  wished  to  tame  you  by  hunger.  This 
is  the  state  of  affairs. 

"  Ah,  dearest  Elsa,  I  fear  we  will  both  die  old  maids,  and  I 
have  no  talent  for  it  like  Aunt  Lott  ;  she  is  a  born  old  maid " 

Yes,  that  she  was  !  Aunt  Ratenow  had  wished  to 
tame  her,  now  the  Bennewitzer  had  drawn  a  stroke 
through  the  reckoning  himself,  thank  God  !  No,  no, 
aunt  had  always  meant  kindly  toward  her,  but  go  back 
to  her — never  !  She  thought  of  all  the  wakeful  nights, 
the  wretched  hours  which  she  had  passed  there, 
and  then  the  recollections — "  No  !  "  She  unfolded  a 
third  letter,  which  she  had  wrjtten  herself ;  it  was  the 
draft  of  her  answer  to  Aunt  Ratenow  : 

"Mv  DEAR  AUNT  : 

"  Accept  many  thanks  for  your  kind  words  which  have  pleased 
and  relieved  me  unspeakably.  It  was  very  hard  for  me  to  have 
incurred  your  displeasure,  and  only  the  consciousness  that  I  did 
right,  upheld  me  in  all  the  sad  days  which  followed  your  depart- 
ure from  here.  Accept  my  warmest  thanks  for  the  love  which 
you  have  always  shown  me,  and  which  again  to-day  has  been 
proved  to  me.  How  could  I  ever  forget  what  you  have  done  for 
me  !  But  do  not  think  me  defiant  and  ungrateful.  I  remain  here 
— I  feel  that  work  is  the  only  thing  which  can  console  me  for  the 
painful  experiences  which  I  have  had  during  the  last  year " 


A  Poor  Girl.  247 

She  dropped  the  sheet.  Had  she  not  written  too 
bitterly  ?  she  asked  herself.  But  who  picks  sweet  fruit 
from  a  sickly,  broken  tree  ?  Her  pen  had  involuntarily 
traced  these  words. 

She  folded  the  letter  again,  and  sat  there  quietly.  In 
the  next  room  the  violin  was  being  played  upon.  Miss 
Brown  seemed  very  melancholy  to-day ;  she  had  begun 
with  "  Home,  sweet  home." 

She  was  a  lanky,  sandy-haired,  freckled  woman,  and 
her  eyes  wore  a  perpetual  look  of  homesickness.  Her 
favorite  hours  were  those  of  twilight,  when  she  could 
play  her  violin,  she  had  told  Elsa ;  and  Elsa  closed  her 
eyes  and  to  these  sounds  dreamed  of  another  hand 
which  handled  the  bow  in  such  a  masterly  fashion,  of 
tones  which  were  indescribably  sweeter  and  softer. 

How  vivid  it  all  was  !  There  was  the  Hungarian 
dance,  and  now — how  did  the  English  woman  come  by 
the  German  folk-song  ? 

"  Ah,  who  in  this  world  is  like  me  left  to  pine. 
No  father,  no  mother,  no  fortune  is  mine; 
And  nothing  else  have  I " 

She  began  to  weep  again.  Where  did  they  all  come 
from,  these  tears  ? 

Now  some  one  mounted  the  stairs  outside ;  who  could 
it  be  coming  stumbling  up  in  that  fashion  ?  Probably 
the  lamp  was  not  yet  lighted  in  the  hall.  Some  one 
passed  her  door,  heavily ;  it  sounded  like  a  man's  tread. 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  next  room  ;  the 


248  A  Poor  Girl. 

violin-playing  ceased.  "  Come  in  !  "  she  heard  Miss 
Brown  call,  and  immediately  after,  "  Dear  me  !  "  and  a 
man's  deep  voice  asking  apologetically  for  information. 

"  The  next  door  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  Miss  Brown, 
in  her  broken  German. 

Suddenly  Elsa  stood  in  the  open  doorway,  and  tried 
to  pierce  the  deep  twilight  with  her  gaze,  her  hands 
pressed  tightly  against  her  beating  heart.  "  Moritz  ?  " 
she  asked  softly  and  doubtfully. 

"  Elsa,  my  dear  Elsa,  where  are  you  hiding  ?  In 
this  Egyptian  darkness  one  cannot  see  one's  hand  before 
one's  face.  Yes,  my  dear  girl.  You  did  not  expect  me." 

Yes,  that  was  Moritz's  well-known  voice.  They  stood 
in  the  little  room.  Elsa  could  not  yet  understand  it. 

"  Moritz,  you  ?  "  Her  trembling  fingers  lighted  the 
lamp,  and  now  she  gazed  into  his  face. 

"  Yes,  I  !  "  And  he  took  off  his  overcoat  upon 
which  the  snow-flakes  began  to  melt,  and  held  out 
both  hands  to  her.  "  What  does  he  want  now  ?  You 
ask  yourself  this,  eh  ?  He  has  come  to  fetch  you,  you 
runaway.  Without  you  I  dare  not  present  myself  at 
the  castle  again." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  gazed  at  him  with  eyes 
which  told  of  many  tears.  He  smiled  and  seated  him- 
self comfortably  upon  a  chair  near  the  stove. 

"Only  for  a  few  days'  visit,  Elsa.  Mother  must  speak 
with  you.  She  cannot  travel,  or  else  she  would  have 
come  herself.  She  is  not  yet  quite  herself  ;  she  was  very 
ill  in  the  spring.  Therefore  she  sent  me  now." 


A  Poor  Girl.  249 

"  Aunt  wrote  to  me  some  time  ago,"  said  Elsa. 

"And  you  answered  her.    I  know  it." 

Elsa  flushed.     "  I  could  not  do  otherwise,  Moritz  ! " 

"Mother  asks  nothing  more  of  you,  Elsa,  than  to 
come  with  me.  You  are  perfectly  free  to  return  here 
again  at  any  moment." 

"  I  do  not  know,  Moritz,  whether  I  can " 

"  You  can,  Elsa  !  Only  dress  yourself  warmly  and 
come." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Moritz  ?  So,  without  all 
preparation !  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  conferring  with  Sister  Beata  for 
an  hour  down-stairs  ;  all  is  arranged." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  go,"  said  she,  defiantly. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  replied;  "or  why  are  you  a 
Hegebach  ?  Defiance  is  inbred  in  that  family." 

"  Moritz  !  "  Her  tears  came  again.  "  I  have  been 
nothing  but  a  trouble  and  vexation  to  every  one  since 
I  came  into  the  world — against  my  inclination,  but  so 
it  is  ;  to  my  father,  your  mother,  and  you  ;  yes,  Moritz, 
you  too ;  and  you  were  always  so  kind.  Leave  me 
here ;  ah,  leave  me  here  !  " 

Suddenly  he  laughed  so  heartily  and  loudly  that  the 
violin  hushed,  as  if  alarmed,  in  the  next  room,  in  the 
midst  of  a  brilliant  cadenza.  "  You  dear,  foolish  girl," 
said  he,  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  "So  you  know  that, 
too  ?  Well,  to  calm  you,  Frieda  first  proposed  that  I 
should  and  must  fetch  you.  Aunt  Lott  offered,  but 
Frieda  insisted.  Are  you  satisfied  now  ?  Well,  cry  ; 


250  A  Poor  Girl. 

you  have  fifteen  minutes'  time  for  it.  And  meanwhile, 
for  the  sake  of  science,  I  will  test  your  famous  liquor 
in  the  tavern.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  shall  return, 
Elsa.  And  pray  give  me  a  light ;  that  old  ladder 
positively  endangers  one's  life  in  the  darkness.  Good- 
by.  'Be  ready  !  " 

She  seated  herself  defiantly  ;  she  would  not.  Who 
could  compel  her  ?  What  right  had  they  to  drag  her 
away  from  her  difficultly  won  peace  ?  And  so  there 
she  sat  when  Moritz  returned. 

His  honest  blue  eyes  looked  pained  and  surprised. 
Then  he  took  out  his  watch  and  placed  himself  beside 
the  stove. 

"  Ten  minutes  more,"  said  his  lips,  but  his  eyes  said, 
"  I  had  not  expected  this  !  " 

She  rose,  took  from  the  wardrobe  her  jacket  and  a 
few  articles  of  clothing,  which  she  placed  in  a  sachel. 
Then  she  stood  still  and  gazed  around  the  room  ;  again 
"  I  cannot  !  "  rose  to  her  lips.  And  then  suddenly  she 
found  herself  down-stairs  ready  for  her  journey,  and 
gave  Sister  Beata  her  hand. 

"  God  keep  you,  Elizabeth  !  " 

"  I  shall  come  back  soon,  Sister  Beata." 

"  If  God  pleases  !  "  said  the  gentle  little  woman. 

It  was  snowing,  and  the  frosty  air  fanned  the  girl's 
forehead. 

"  Have  you  wrapped  yourself  up  warmly,  dear  ?  " 
asked  Moritz,  anxiously.  She  nodded,  and  walked 
beside  him  in  silence. 


A  Poor  Girl.  251 

They  were  just  in  time.  Elsa  did  not  know  how  she 
got  into  the  bright,  warm  railway  carriage  so  quickly. 

"It  is  a  fast  train,"  said  Moritz,  as  they  started. 
"  We  have  only  five  hours  ;  at  eleven  we  will  be  at  home." 

At  home  !  The  girl  turned  away  and  gazed  out  of 
the  window.  She  had  a  depressing  feeling  of  false 
submission,  of  weakness  of  character ;  it  made  her 
wretched.  He  noticed  plainly  that  she  did  not  feel 
happy,  and  wished  to  entertain  her. 

"I  know  scarcely  any  news  to  tell  you,  Elsa,"  he 
began.  "  The  Rosts  entertain  a  great  deal.  Madame 
Annie  distinguishes  herself  by  her  style  and  costumes, 
and  Lili  is  on  the  verge  of  betrothal,  as  she  writes  my 
wife.  It  is  an  old  love,  I  believe.  Her  father-in-law 
has  until  now  bitterly  opposed  the  match.  It  is  a 
school  boy  and  girl  affair — but  you  probably  know 
this — now  fortunately  he  has  obtained  a  good  position 
in  Heidelberg,  and  she  has  carried  her  point,  the  little 
witch  who  always  seemed  so  flighty." 

Elsa  looked  up  but  said  nothing,  she  felt  even  more 
sad. 

"Yes,  and  the  Bennewitzer  has  carried  his  point. 
Will  you  permit  me  to  smoke,  Elsa?  Thanks.  And 
he  possesses  an  adopted  son.  Are  you  too  warm,  Elsa  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  please  open  the  window." 

"  Mother  was  forced  to  put  in  her  word,"  he  con- 
tinued, and  blew  his  cigar  smoke  comfortably  into  the 
air  ;  "  he  probably  would  never  have  succeeded  had  she 
not  assisted  him.  Now  he  seems  quite  satisfied." 


252  A  Poor  Girl. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  she,  speaking  almost  for  the  first 
time. 

"  He  is  about  to  have  a  grand  celebration  of  this 
event.  You  can  imagine  that  he  is  again  the  talk  of 
the  town,  Elsa." 

Yes,  of  course  !  And  she  too,  probably — and  she 
had  been  foolish  enough  to  come  back  with  Moritz  ! 
She  wrapped  herself  closer  in  her  shawl,  drew  her  veil 
over  her  face  and  leaned  her  head  back  among  the 
cushions.  She  was  very  angry  with  herself. 

And  the  train  rushed  on,  and  Moritz  slept.  The 
nearer  she  came  to  her  destination  the  more  anxious 
she  became,  inexplicably  anxious.  It  seemed  like  a 
dream  to  her  when  she  seated  herself  in  the  carriage  ; 
like  an  old,  sad,  and  yet  so  sweet  dream.  The  coach- 
man's "  Good  evening  "  had  sounded  so  pleasant  to  her, 
and  the  little  coup£  smelled  so  deliciously  of  Frieda's 
favorite  perfume.  Happy  old  recollections  overcame 
her  ;  her  heart  beat  joyously.  She  could  not  help  it. 

She  stood  in  the  lofty  hall,  half  dazed  ;  and  Moritz 
made  excuses  for  Frieda  because  she  was  not  waiting 
to  receive  them.  She  was  probably  asleep,  and  his 
mother  also,  but  Aunt  Lott  was  waiting  upstairs,  and 
in  Aunt  Lett's  doorway  stood  a  dear  little  figure  with 
outstretched  arms. 

"  Ah,  thank  God,  Elsa,  my  own  darling,  that  you  are 
here  !  "  was  the  welcome  she  received  ;  and  the  weep- 
ing, little  aunt  clasped  her  in  her  arms.  "  Oh,  how 
lovely  that  you  have  come  ;  now  all  is  well !  " 


A  Poor  Girl.  253 

How  she  could  talk,  dear  Aunt  Lott ;  and  she  forced 
her  to  drink  some  warm  tea,  while  the  girl  sat  there 
silently,  and  only  at  length  said,  "  Do  I  not  smell 
violets  ?  " 

"  That  is  only  a  fancy,  Elsa  ;  that  is  the  perfume  of 
recollection — yes,  yes  ;  oh,  I  know  that !  " 

And  the  old  lady  forcibly  put  the  girl  to  bed  ;  she 
must  sleep,  she  must  be  fresh  for  to-morrow,  she  looked 
so  pale.  And  then  Elsa  lay  in  bed  and  looked  around 
the  room,  which  the  snowy  winter  night  filled  with  a 
dim  twilight.  The  dying  fire  flickered  in  the  tiled  stove, 
there  stood  the  chest,  there  the  doll  house  ;  it  was  all  so 
indescribably  cosey  and  homelike.  And  then  dream 
and  reality  began  to  blend  with  each  other,  and  she  fell 
asleep. 

It  was  bright  day  when  she  waked,  and  the  sun  shone 
into  the  pleasant  room.  It  surely  was  filled  with  the 
fragrance  of  violets. 

She  looked  about  her,  she  could  scarcely  realize  where 
she  was  ;  then  she  started  up  from  the  pillows.  Mrs. 
von  Ratenow  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  gazed 
at  her  solemnly,  with  a  huge  bunch  of  violets  in  her 
hand. 

''  Good  morning,  you  lazy  Elsa  !  " 

"  Oh  aunt,  forgive  me,"  stammered  Elsa,  in  embar- 
rassment. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come,  little  girl,  and  now 
give  me  your  hand.  So  then,  no  more  defiance  and  no 
more  enmity,  eh  ?  She  never  meant  unkindly,  the  old 


254  A  Poor  Girl. 

aunt.  You  must  surely  know  that.  And  now  she  begs 
your  forgiveness  if  she  tormented  and  pained  you.  Do 
you  know  what  it  means  when  an  old  woman  like  me 
says  to  a  chit  like  you,  '  I  beg  you  not  to  be  angry 
with  me'  ?"  With  these  words  she  drew  the  girl  tenderly 
toward  her,  and  patted  her  cheek,  while  the  bunch  of 
violets  fell  upon  the  counterpane. 

"  They  are  from  the  Bennewitzer,  Elsa,"  said  she. 

Elsa  suddenly  grew  very  pale. 

"  Yes,  really,  Elsa  !  And  I  have  a  message  for  you 
too.  But  dress  yourself  quickly  ;  meanwhile  I  will  wait 
in  Lett's  room." 

With  anxiously  beating  heart  the  girl  dressed.  No, 
it  was  not  possible,  they  could  not  be  preparing  a  new 
blow  for  her — oh,  no  ;  Moritz  said  he  had  an  adopted 
son  ;  it  was  probably  only  a  reconciliation  with  him. 

Then  she  entered  Aunt  Lott's  pleasant  sitting-room. 
"  Oh,  a  lovely  winter  day  !  "  said  the  latter,  pointing  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Just  the  weather  for  sleighing,"  said  Mrs.  von  Rate- 
now.  "  How  would  you  like  to  have  a  sleigh-ride,  Elsa  ? 
But  come  now  ;  are  you  ready,  Lott  ?  We  are  to  break- 
fast together  to-day,  Elsa,  with  Moritz."  And  she 
took  the  young  girl's  arm,  and  went  out  into  the  corri- 
dor with  her. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  help  it,  Elsa  dear,  I  must  tell  you," 
said  she,  as  they  walked  down  the  corridor  ;  "  the  Ben- 
newitzer sends  his  most  cordial  greetings — the  old  one, 
of  course  ;  the  younger  dares  not  yet — and  he  promised 


A  Poor  Girl.  255 

your  father  on  his  death-bed  to  care  for  you,  shield  and 
protect  you,  so  he  must  keep  his  word.  As  you  refused 
to  be  his  wife,  he  hopes  perhaps  it  may  be  more  to  your 
liking  to  be  his  daughter-in-law.  But  child — do  not  be 
so  violent.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Hold  her 
fast,  Aunt  Lott  !  " 

But  that  was  no  longer  necessary.  Suddenly  Elsa 
leaned  as  though  unconscious,  against  the  old  lady's 
shoulder,  just  as  she  opened  the  drawing-room  door. 

"  Elsa,  Elsa  !  She  usually  is  so  brave,  and  now  her 
courage  fails  her.  Yes,  yes,  the  Bennewitzer's  son 
plays  the  violin  ;  he  is  a  fine  talented  young  fellow." 

Suddenly  Elsa  stood  alone  in  the  beautiful  room  ;  she 
had  clutched  the  back  of  one  of  the  high  arm-chairs, 
and  listened  with  failing  senses.  It  could  not  be  pos- 
sible !  All  that  aunt  had  said,  all  that  rang  in  her  ears, 
and  whispered  of  a  wondrous,  unbounded  happiness — 
no,  it  could  not  be  ! 

Then  it  ceased  abruptly,  the  playing  ;  and  hurried, 
joyous  footsteps  came  toward  her,  and  then  a  voice 
said,  "  Elsa,  what  is  happiness  if  it  is  not  this 
hour  ?  " 

All  was  silence  in  the  adjoining  room.  Aunt  Rate- 
now  went  to  the  portieres,  drew  aside  the  folds  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  through.  Then  she  turned  back 
to  the  Bennewitzer  ;  nodding  gravely  she  gave  him  her 
hand,  and  both  stood  at  the  window  and  gazed  out  into 
the  garden. 

"  Tic-tac,  tic-tac/'  said   the   little  clock ;   no  other 


256 


A  Poor  Girl. 


sound   was  audible,  not  a  word  from  the  next  room, 
only  once  a  soft  sob. 

"  Ah,  well,  pray  show  yourselves,  children  !  "  cried 


Moritz  at  length  ;  the  time  seemed  unending  to  him. 
Then  they  came,  and  a  girl  glowing  with  happiness 
threw  her  arms  around  the  Bennewitzer's  neck. 


A  Poor  Girl.  257 

"  Cousin  !  "  she  sobbed  "  have  you  forgiven  me  !  You 
are  too  good,  much  too  good  to  me." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  child,"  said  he  gently. 

"  How  shall  I  thank  you,  cousin  ?  " 

"  By  coming  soon  to  Bennewitz,  Elsa.  It  is  so  lonely 
there." 

"  She  did  not  want  me — really  she  did  not  want  me  ; 
confess  it,  Elsa  !  "  And  Bernardi  drew  her  from  the 
Bennewitzer's  arms  to  his  breast.  "  She  said  she  was 
only  a  poor  girl  !  " 


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POEMS. — The  most  satisfactory  American  edi- 
tion issued,  printed  from  excellent  type  on  paper  of 
superior  quality,  with  introductory  essay  by  Henry 
T.  Tuckerman.  3  vols.,  8vo,  gilt  tops,  $5.25;  half 
calf  extra,  $10.50. 

The  highest  place  among  modern  poetesses  must  be  claimed  for  Mrs.  Browning.  In  purity, 
loftiness  of  sentiment,  feeling  and  in  intellectual  power  she  is  excelled  only  by  Tennyson,  whose 
works  it  is  evident  she  had  carefully  studied.  Nearly  all  her  poems  bear  the  impress  of  deep 
and  sometimes  melancholy  thought,  but  show  a  high  and  fervid  imagination.  Her  Sonnets  from 
ihr  Portuguese,  are  as  passionate  as  Shakespeare's,  all  eminently  beautiful.  Of  her  Aurora 
Ruskin  said  "  that  is  the  greatest  poem  which  this  century  has  produced  in  any  language." 


FESTUS.— A  Poem  by  Philip  James  Bailey.  With 
choice  steel  plates,  by  Hammett  Billings.  Beau- 
tifully printed.  410,  cloth,  gilt,  $3.00;  do.,  do.,  full 
gilt  and  gilt  edges,  $5.00. 

GAUTIER  (Theophile).  One  of  Cleopatra's  Nights 
and  Other  Fantastic  Stories.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  Lafcadio  Hearn.  8vo,  cloth  extra,  gilt 
top,  $1.75. 

A  brilliant  and  intensely  fascinating  collection  of  stories  from  the  pen  of  the  inimitable  Gautier, 
they  are  excellent  specimens  of  his  work  in  his  brightest  and  happiest  vein  ;  the  scenes  are  auda- 
ciously limned,  and  distinguished  for  their  conscientious  fidelity  to  nature. 

GRAY. — The  works  of  Thomas  Gray,  in  Prose  and 
Verse.  Edited  by  Edmund  Goose,  Lecturer  of 
English  Literature  at  the  University  of  Cambridge, 
With  portraits,  fac-similes,  etc.  4  vols.,  crown  Svo, 
cloth,  gilt  top,  $6.00  ;  half  calf,  $12.00. 

"  Every  lover  of  English  literature  will  welcome  the  works  of  Gray,  the  author  of  the  immortal 
'Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard,'  from  the  hands  of  an  editor  so  accomplished  as  Mr. 
Gosse.  His  competency  for  the  task  has  been  known  for  some  time  to  students  of  poetry,  and 
the  present  edition  is  now  considered  to  be  the  most  careful  and  complete  ever  published." — 
London  Atheniemn. 

GUNNING  (William  D.).— Life  History  of  Our 
Planet.  Illustrated  with  80  illustrations  by  Mary 
Gunning.  Crown  Svo,  cloth,  gilt  extra,  $1.50. 

From  this  work,  more  so  than  any  other,  we  probably  gain  a  clearer  idea  of  the  almost 
incredible  changes  Nature  has  wrought  on  our  planet  and  still  more  wonderful  changes  we  may 
expect  in  the  future.  We  are  given  several  interesting  pa^es — with  illustrations — on  the  mammoth 
creatures  of  pre-historic  times,  whose  mummified  bones  alone  remain  to  tell  their  story.  It  should 
be  read  by  every  one  who  desires  to  know  more  about  the  world  we  live  in. 

HARDY  (Lady  Duffus).  Through  Cities  and  Prairie 
Lands.  A  most  interesting  book  of  Travels  in 
America,  i  vol.,  crown  Svo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.75. 

Recollections  of  a  most  pleasant  trip  made  by  this  distinguished  lady  through  America.  She 
has  many  warm  words  for  the  kind  manner  in  which  she  was  trented,  and  altogether  the 
work  is  a  most  pleading  and  pronounced  contrast  to  the  average  hastily  written  English  impression: 
of  America. 


HISTORY  AND  ANTIQUITIES  OF  FREE- 
MASONRY, as  Connected  with  Ancient  Norse 
Guilds,  and  the  Oriental  and  Mediaeval  Building 
Fraternities,  to  which  is  added  the  Legend  of  Prince 
Edward,  etc.,  by  George  F.  Fort.  A  New  Edition, 
i  vol.,  8vo,  $1.75. 

This  work  is  the  result  of  years  of  labor  on  the  part  of  the  author,  whose  original  and  persistent 
design  has  been  to  arrive  at  the  truth,  and,  at  the  same  time,  supply  a  want  long  felt  by  members 
of  tk«  Masonic  Fraternity,  as  well  as  the  uninitiated.  That  he  has  fully  accomplished  his  purpose  is 
demonstrated  by  the  fact  that  it  is  now  looked  upon  as  the  most  standard  and  authentic  history  o{ 
Freemasonry  in  existence. 

HOW?  or,  Spare  Hours  Made  Profitable  for  Boys 
and  Girls.  By  Kennedy  Holbrook.  Profusely 
illustrated  by  the  author.  8vo,  cloth,  gilt,  $2.00. 
do.,  do.,  full  gilt  extra,  $2.50. 

The  most  interesting  and  instructive  work  of  the  kind  ever  issued.  By  the  help  of  their  plainly 
worded  and  fully  illustrated  instructions,  any  bright  boy  or  girl  may  devise  unlimited  entertain- 
ment and  fashion  many  acceptable  and  useful  presents  for  playmates  and  friends.  The  directions 
are  for  working  with  wood,  paper,  chemicals  and  paints,  with  knife,  pencil,  brush  and  scissors,  and 
for  the  performance  of  sleight-of-hand  tricks. 

JERROLD  (Blanchard).  Days  with  Great  Authors. 
Dickens,  Scott,  Thackeray,  Douglas  Jerrold.  Se- 
lections from  their  Works,  and  Biographical  Sketches 
and  Personal  Reminiscences.  Numerous  illustra- 
tions. 8vo,  cloth,  gilt  extra,  $2.00. 

To  the  hosts  of  admirers  of  these  great  authors  this  work  will  prove  of  absorbing  interest,  as  it 
contains  many  reminiscences  never  before  in  print.  Considerable  space  has  also  been  devoted  to 
their  public  speeches,  and  short,  characteristic  selections  are  given  from  their  best  works. 

LA  FONTAINE'S  FABLES.— Translated  from 
the  French  by  Elizur  Wright,  Jr.  Illustrations  by 
Grandville.  Crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $1.50. 

La  Fontaine's  Fables — there  is  magic  as  well  as  music  in  the  name  ;  they  have  been  deservedly 
popular  for  years,  and  they  will  be  read  with  ever  increasing  pleasure  by  young  and  old,  "  as  long 
as  the  world  rolls  round."  This  is  the  only  moderate  priced  translation  of  these  charming  fables 
published. 

LE  BRUN  (Madame  Vigee).— Souvenirs  of.  With 
a  steel  portrait,  from  an  original  painting  by  the 
author.  2  vols.  in  i,  crown  8vo,  red  cloth,  gilt 
top,  $1.75. 

"An  amusing  book,  which  contains  a  great  deal  that  is  new  and  strange,  and  many  anecdotes 
which  are  always  entertaining."  It  is  written  IT  a  reminiscent  and  chatty  Jtyle.  and  relates  many 
'•choice  tid-bits"  of  the  distinguished  historical  persona jes  with  whom  the  authoress  was  acquainte-l 


LOUDpN'S  COTTAGE,  FARM  AND  VILLA 

Architecture  and  Furniture. — Containing  numerous 
Designs  for  Dwellings,  from  the  Villa  to  the  Cottage 
and  the  Farm,  each  design  accompanied  by  analyti- 
cal and  critical  remarks.  Illustrated  by  upwards  of 
2,000  engravings.  In  one  very  thick  vol.,  8vo,  $7.50. 

One  of  the  most  useful  books  on  architecture  ever  issued.  Gives  valuable  hints  to  anyone  con 
emplaung  building  either  villas,  cottages,  or  outhouses,  and  may  save  thoughtful  and  practical  mei 
hundreds  of  dollars. 

MACAULAY'S  LAYS  of  Ancient  Rome.— With 
all  the  antique  illustrations  and  steel  portrait.  Beau- 
tifully printed.  4to,  cloth,  extra  gilt,  $3.50  ;  do.,  do., 
full  gilt  and  gilt  edges,  $5.00;  do.,  do.,  I2mo,  cloth 
extra,  $r.oo. 

When  the  famous  historian  issued  these  lays,  which  have  since  become  classics,  it  was  a 
literary  surprise,  for  no  one  thought  that  he  was  also  a  poet  of  such  high  degree.  His  poetry  is  the 
rythmical  outflow  of  a  vigorous  and  affluent  writer,  given  to  splendor  of  diction  and  imagery  in 
his  flowing  prose.  Stedman  said  of  this  volume,  "  the  lays  have  to  me  a  charm,  and  to  almost  every 
healthy  young  mind  are  an  immediate  delight." 

NAPOLEON. — Las  Cases'  Napoleon.  Memoirs  of 
the  Life,  Exile,  and  Conversations  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon.  By  the  Count  de  Las  Cases,  with  8 
steel  portraits,  maps,  and  illustrations.  4  vols.,  I2mo, 
400  pages  each,  cloth,  $5.00  ;  half  calf  extra,  $10.00. 

With  his  son  the  Count  devoted  himself  at  St.  Helena  to  the  care  of  the  Emperor  and  passed 
his  evenings  in  recording  his  remarks.  Commenting  in  a  letter  to  Lucian  Bonaparta  on  the 
treatment  to  which  Napoleon  was  subjected,  he  was  arrested  by  the  English  authorities  and  sent 
away  and  imprisoned. 

NAPOLEON.— O'Meara's  Napoleon  in  Exile;  or  A 
Voice  from  St.  Helena.  Opinions  and  Reflections 
of  Napoleon  on  the  Most  Important  Events  in  his 
Life  and  Government  in  his  own  words.  By  Barry 
E.  O'Meara,  his  late  Surgeon.  Portrait  of  Napo- 
leon, after  Delaroche,  and  a  view  of  St.  Helena, 
both  on  steel.  2  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  $2.50;  half  calf 
extra,  $5.00. 

Mr.  O'Meara's  works  contains  a  body  of  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  information-, 
information  the  accuracy  of  which  stands  ummpeached  by  any  attacks  made  against  its  author. 
The  details  in  Las  Cases'  work  and  those  of  Mr.  O'Meara  mutually  support  each  other. 


NAPIER'S  PENINSULA  WAR.— The  History 
of  the  War  in  the  Peninsula.  By  Major-Gen.  Sir 
W.  F.  P.  Napier.  With  55  maps  and  plans  of  bat- 
tles, 5  portraits  on  steel,  and  a  complete  index.  An 
elegant  Library  Edition.  5  vols.,  8vo,  $7.50  ;  half 
calf,  $18.00. 

Acknowledged  to  be  the  most  valuable  record  of  that  war  which  England  waged  against  th« 
power  of  Napoleon.  The  most  ample  testimony  has  been  borne  to  the  accuracy  of  the  historian's 
statements,  and  to  the  diligence  and  acuteness  with  which  he  has  collected  his  materials. 

NELL  GWYN,  The  Story  of,  and  the  Sayings  of 
Charles  the  Second,  related  and  collated  by  Peter 
Cunningham,  F.S.A.  With  fine  portrait  and  n 
extra  engravings.  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $3.50. 

An  exceedingly  interesting  memoir  relating  to  the  times  of  Charles  II.  Pepys  in  writing  about 
Nell  Gwyn  called  her  "  Pretty  witty  Nell,"  was  always  delighted  to  see  her,  and  constantly  praises 
her  excellent  acting.  Cunningham  states  that  had  the  King  lived  he  would  have  created  her 
Countess  of  Greenwich,  and  his  dying  wish  to  his  brother,  afterwards  James  II.,  was  :  "Do  not  let 
poor  Nelly  starve." 

PICTURESQUE  IRELAND,  Descriptive  and 
Historical. — Comprising  5o  full-page  engravings  on 
steel  of  its  picturesque  scenery,  remarkable  antiqui- 
ties and  present  aspects,  from  original  drawings  by 
W.  H.  Bartlett,  and  a  complete  account  of  its  cities, 
towns,  mountains,  waters,  ancient  monuments,  and 
modern  structures  by  Markinfield  Addey.  2  vols., 
4to,  cloth  extra,  gilt  edges,  $10.00 ;  or  in  half 
morocco  extra,  gilt  edges,  $20.00. 

These  two  handsome  volumes  will  make  the  reader  better  acquainted  with  the  picturesque 
features  of  the  "  Emerald  Isle  "  than  any  work  that  has  ever  preceded  it.  Only  by  a  combination 
of  b)th  pen  and  pencil  was  it  possible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  beauty  of  Ireland,  its  marvelous  lakes, 
mountains  and  valleys,  romantic  streams,  mysterious  round  towers,  giant's  causeway,  waterfalls, 
stately  castles,  magnificent  religious  and  public  edifices,  etc.,  etc. 

PURITANS.  History  of  the  Puritans  and  Pilgrim 
Fathers.  By  Professor  Stowell  and  Daniel  Wilson, 
F.S.A.  In  i  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  $1.75. 

Stowell  and  Wilson's  history  is  acknowledged  everywhere  to  be  the  best  and  most  exhaustive 
history  of  the  Pilgrim  fathers.  A  full  and  complete  account  of  the  rise  of  the  Puritans  under  the 
Tudors  to  their  settlement  in  New  England,  which  is  herein  given,  makes  this  a  most  valuable  wortr 
of  reference  and  study. 


STAUFFER  (Frank  H.).  The  Queer,  The  Quaint, 
The  Quizzical.  A  Cabinet  for  the  Curious.  With 
full  index.  8vo,  cloth  extra,  $1.75. 

"  Oddities  and  wonders. 

Antiquities  and  blunders, 
And  omens  dire ; 

Strange  customs,  cranks  and  freaks, 

With  philosophy  in  streaks" 

are  all  to  be  found  between  the  covers  of  this  book.     It  certainly  is  the  completes!  collection  of  odd 
and  curious  events  ever  made. 

TAINE,  H.  A. — History  of  English  Literature. 
Translated  by  H.  Van  Laun,  with  Introductory 
Essay  and  Notes  by  R.  H.  Stoddard.  4  handsome 
volumes.  Cloth,  white  labels,  $7.5o. 

It  is  the  book  on  the  subject,  the  more  wonderful  that,  written  by  a  French  critic,  it  should  be 
accepted  by  English-speaking  people — everywhere — as  the  authority  on  the  literature  of  their  own 
language,  universally  prized  for  its  clearness,  terseness  and  comprehensiveness,  and  yet  as 
interesting  as  a  work  of  fiction. 

THE  APOCRYPHAL  NEW  TESTAMENT, 

Being  all  the  Gospels,  Epistles,  and  Other  Pieces  now 
extant  attributed  in  the  First  Centuries  to  Jesus 
Christ,  His  Apostles  and  their  Companions,  and 
not  included  in  the  New  Testament  by  its  compil- 
ers. Translated  from  the  original  tongues,  and  now 
first  collected  into  one  volume.  With  numerous 
quaint  illustrations.  T  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  red  edges, 
81.25. 

As  a  literary  curiosity  thi-  work  has  excited  the  greatest  attention  all  over  the  Christian  world. 
There  is  nothing  in  it  contradictory  of  those  truths  which  have  been  accepted  as  revealed,  but  every 
chapter  and  verse  goes  to  confirm  the  undoubted  writings  of  the  apostles  and  evangelists. 

WALT  WHITMAN.— Leaves  of  Grass.  Original 
edition.  Year  85  of  the  State.  Foolscap  8vo, 
cloth  extra,  $3.75. 

We  offer  here  the  Fine  Original  Edition  of  Whitman's  Poems.  Recognition  of  the  wonderful 
power  and  chart//  in  his  rugged  verse  has  been  freely  given  by  all  who  appreciate  the  grand  and 
beautiful  in  poetry.  The  "  Good,  Gray  Poet  "  is  gaining  admirers  daily;  his  Leaves  of  Grass  is 
destined  to  live  forever  as  a  representative  classic  of  a  oold  a«d  rythmic  style  of  versification 
peculiatly  his  own. 


WATERS  (Robert).  William  Shakespeare  For- 
trayed  by  Himself.  A  Revelation  of  the  Poet  in 
the  Career  and  Character  of  one  of  his  own 
Dramatic  Heroes.  By  Robert  Waters.  i  vol., 

$1.25. 

In  this  able  and  exceedingly  interesting  book  on  Shakespeare,  the  author  shows  )  ow  the  great 
poet  has  revealed  himself,  his  life,  and  his  character,  besides  refuting  conclusively  the  ciphers  of 
Donnelly  and  other  Baconian  theories.  Altogether  the  best  life  of  Shakespeare,  remarkably  well 
written  in  vigorous  English.  "An  original,  wholesome,  scholarly,  and  plainly  sincere  book  on 
Shakespeare.  It  is  after  all  something  new  about  Shakespeare,  which  Lowell  feared  could  not  be 
said." — E.  C.  STEDMAN. 

WILSON'S  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^.— The 

Noctes  Ambrosianae,  by  Prof.  Wilson,  J.  G.  Lock- 
hart,  James  Hogg,  and  Dr.  Maginn.  A  revised 
edition,  with  Steel  Portraits,  and  Memoirs  of  the 
authors,  and  copiously  annotated  by  R.  Shelton 
Mackenzie,  D.C.L  6  vols.,  crown  8vo,  including 
"  Christopher  North,"  A  Memoir  of  Prof.  Wilson, 
from  family  papers  and  other  sources.  By  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Gordon.  Cloth  $9.00;  half  calf  $i  8  oo. 

This  series  of  imaginary  conversations  were  supposed  to  have  taken  place  between  Christopher 
North  (Wilson),  the  Ettrick  Sheperd  (Hogg)  and  others  in  the  parlour  ofa  tavern  kept  by  one  Am- 
brose in  Edinburgh,  hence  the  title  Noctes  Ambrosianae.  A  too  literal  interpretation  is  not  to  be 
given  to  the  scene  of  these  festivities,  however,  but  the  true  Ambrose's  must  be  looked  for  only 
in  the  realms  of  the  imagination.  It  is  one  of  the  most  curious  and  original  works  in  the 
English  language,  a  most  singular  and  delightful  outpouring  of  criticism,  politics  and  descriptions 
of  feeling,  character  and  scenery  of  verse  and  prose,  of  eloquence  and  especially  of  wild  fun.  It 
breathes  the  very  essence  of  the  Bacchanalian  revel  of  clever  men.  Prof.  Wilson  is  a  writer  of  the 
most  ardent  and  enthusiastic  genius  whose  eloquence  is  as  the  rush  of  mighty  waters. 

YOUNG  FOLKS'  HISTORY  OF  THE  RE- 
BELLION. By  William  M.  Thayer.  Illustrated. 
4  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  $5.oo. 

Fort  Sumter  to  Roanoke  Island.  Murfreesboro'  to  Fort  Pillow. 

Roanoke  Island  to  Murfreesboro'.  Fort  Pillow  to  the  End. 

A  faithful  history  of  the  late  war,  which  by  its'  attractive  presentation  is  especially  adapted  to 
youthful  readers.  Its  narrative  is  full  of  dash  and  adventure,  the  military  events  are  recited  vividly 
and  thrillingly,  it  is  interspersed  with  individual  heroism,  suffering  and  daring,  and  on  the  whole 
renders  a  better  account  of  the  war  and  its  causes  than  any  other  bocfc  that  we  are  acquainted  with. 
The  author's  style  is  perfect  al  all  times,  either  delicate,  pathetic,  or  picturesque,  but  always  in 
simple  language  that  any  young  reader  can  fully  understand. 


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